


Black Magic

by taormina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Take That (Band)
Genre: Adult Humour, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Banter, Fluff and Angst, Innuendo, M/M, Slow Burn, Spells & Enchantments, love potions, soft porn with a lot of plot, teenage Take That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4601790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: In his final year at Hogwarts, Mark tries every spell under the sun to get the cute boy in his Potions class to notice him — often with disastrous consequences …</p><p>(Note: the boys are all miraculously the same age, and all 18.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crystal Ballin'

‘I don’t wanna be rude, mate, but there’s no way that’ll fit.’

‘Of course it’ll fit, you just gotta be gentle.’

‘I’m telling ya, it won’t go in.’

‘Fine, I’ll cut it up, then.’ Disliking this exercise already, Mark started cutting up the large Shrivelfig that he’d lovingly grown himself over the course of their Herbology lessons. Meanwhile, Robbie tried his hand at deciphering the rest of their notes.

With the all-important Potions exam coming closer and closer, their professor absolutely insisted that the students try making the difficult Shrinking Solution again to see how they got on — indeed, without their copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ by their sides. Unfortunately, Robbie’s notes weren’t very good, and coincidentally Mark lost his the _last_ time he tried making a Shrinking Solution . . .

Unaffected by their current predicament, Robbie casually nudged Mark with his elbow. They were working at a large, rectangular table in the back of the classroom so they could get away with chatting to one another, and were the only ones who were still in the early stages of the making of the potion. A strong smell of burnt wood hung in the air. Some of their Hufflepuff classmates had already started adding leeches to their solutions.

‘Have you talked to Gary yet?’ said Robbie.

Mark’s heart jumped. He deposited the small pieces of Shrivelfig into the cauldron as casually as he could and wiped his hands on his yellow apron. The thick liquid turned pink; according to their notes, it was supposed to turn green. Mark thought he could hear something sizzling.

‘I can’t, can I?’ he whispered sadly while avoiding Robbie’s gaze.

Mark’s eyes flickered to a small group of Slytherin boys and girls that were hunched over a smoking cauldron while he nonchalantly turned over a roll of parchment. The parchment had lots of drawing on it.

‘What’s this?’ he asked Robbie, pointing at a very suspicious-looking doodle in the right-hand corner.

‘That’s a . . . leech,’ said Robbie.

‘Don’t _look_ like a leech. Hang on, have you given this to our professor?’ Mark asked anxiously, remembering that they were once asked to hand in their notes as preparation for the exam.

‘I have, yeah.’

‘What’d she say?’

Robbie put one of the ingredients for the potion into his mouth and shrugged. ‘That it’s a funny looking leech.’ He turned up the fire underneath their potion. ‘Anyway, what’d you mean when you say you can’t talk to ‘im?’

Mark ran his fingers through his short hair. He’d recently had it cut, but it was still sort of curly. He always washed it with cheap lavender shampoo. ‘Well, he’s probably straight, in’t he?’ he said, sounding disappointed. He chopped up a pair of daisy roots a bit too vigorously and nearly knocked over their cauldron when he wanted to throw the bits of root in. ‘What do we do once we’ve ticked off the daisies?’

Robbie frowned. ‘You can’t know that, can you? ‘Sides,’ he added while turning his roll of scribbled parchment back over and skimming the page in search of a clue, ‘When Elton John was mentioned in Muggle Music he almost wet ‘imself.’ He pointed at a highlighted section on the parchment. ‘Says ‘ere we need to add a bunch of caterpillars.’

‘I don’t _wanna_ add caterpillars,’ said Mark, frowning too.

The cauldron made another sizzling noise, and Robbie eyed it warily. He and Mark had both had their fair share of exploding cauldrons.

‘A lot of people like _Elton John_ ,’ Mark argued. He pretended he hadn’t heard Rob talk about caterpillars and handed Robbie a handful of Wormwood. Robbie looked at the herb as though he’d never seen it before, but added it to the concoction anyway. The sizzling only got worse, and Mark and Robbie shared a worried look. A tall, sour looking Slytherin who was working on his own eyed the boys warily.

‘Yes,’ said Robbie as he watched their potion slowly turn red, ‘But do those people also style their _hair_ like Gary’s?’

Gary had short, spiky blonde hair. Mark liked it, but Robbie insisted he used a surprising amount of product for a Slytherin. (And for a boy.)

No matter how hard Robbie tried, nothing could convince Mark that a guy like Gary could ever, ever fancy a Hufflepuff like Mark. In Mark’s mind, it was like mixing oil and water. Cats and dogs. Even now, the stigmas that had once been attached to their respective Houses were still in place. Being a Hufflepuff meant you were a pushover and a coward. Slytherins, on the other hand, were ruthless and cunning. How could those very different traits ever work out together?

Worse still, Gary was probably a Pure-Blood.

Yet, this didn’t stop Mark from fancying the blonde wizard very much.

Mark had had his eyes on him ever since they first spoke to each other in History of Magic one or two years ago. Gary kindly complimented Mark on a humorous song that he’d written about the Goblin Rebellions – Mark liked music and had been too lazy to write a proper essay – and Mark spent the rest of the day and week and month thinking about the Slytherin’s pornographic eyebrows and greyish green eyes.

There was just something about Gary that intrigued Mark: the way he spoke in that deep, rounded voice of his; the way he loved Muggle Music as much as Mark did (and music in general); the way he laughed every time Mark said something funny in class; the way he’d lent Mark his Transfiguration homework after Christmas. They didn’t talk much outside of the occasional “Mark, mate, your wand’s on fire” and “The weather’s nice today, innit?”, but it didn’t stop Mark from feeling butterflies every time he saw him.

Being Muggle-born like Robbie and, in fact, most of his mates, Mark didn’t always find school easy. In fact, most things at Hogwarts he found very difficult; knowing that he’d see Gary every day, no matter from how far a distance, always got him out of bed in the morning.

Then again, with Gary mostly talking to students from his own House, Mark figured he probably didn’t mean anything to Gary anyway. They were just classmates, nothing more, and he would bet that Gary’s fellow Slytherins talked about Mark behind his back all the time; being openly queer and a Hufflepuff hadn’t done him many favours over the years.

Mark trying a move on Gary wasn’t even an option.

‘There’s nothing wrong with Barlow’s hair,’ Mark mumbled. He looked at their potion. ‘Is it supposed to do that?’

Robbie shrugged. He couldn’t care less whether the potion looked like it was supposed to; they were having dinner in an hour, and all he could think about was whether he’d have a steak or a spicy curry. ‘Dunno, mate.’

‘Great, thanks.’

Robbie looked at Gary’s table and nudged Mark with his elbow again. Gary’s Slytherin friends had left for the pantry to get more ingredients, leaving Gary to look after their potion. It appeared to be glowing. ‘He’s on ‘is own now, Markie! You could talk to ‘im!’

The sour Slytherin who’d been staring at Mark and Robbie was now looking hard at Gary. He was probably just trying to cheat, Robbie thought, and he ignored it.

Mark stubbornly shook his head and pretended to be very preoccupied cleaning his workstation. ‘Nah, he’s probably busy with something. I don’t wanna disturb him.’

‘He’s busy _stirring_.’ Robbie pointed out.

‘Stirring _can_ be very important, you know,’ Mark replied. ‘Remember when Jay came out of Potions with half a sleeve missing because he hadn’t stirred his Girding Potion enough?’ He visibly shivered. ‘I don’t want to have Barlow’s angry ghost hanging over me bed every night because I accidentally killed him.’

Jason was their Ravenclaw friend. He was a Head Boy and, like every single member of their group of mates, very bad at potion-making. He was a star Herbologist, though, and was always spotted drinking his “homemade” veg and fruit drinks.

Robbie crossed his arms. He ignored the fact that their potion had just started hissing as though it had a snake crawling helplessly inside it. ‘Look, if you don’t talk to ‘im, I will. I’ll tell ‘im about that nice lil’ dream you had all those months ago,’ he added slyly.

Mark blushed. ‘You wouldn’t.’

‘I would, though. Seriously, Markie, if we both die a virgin I shall be very cross with you in the afterlife.’

Mark was blushing still. ‘I’m not a v—’ But Robbie gave Mark a literal kick up the arse and shoved him towards Gary’s table. Not wanting to make a fool of himself, Mark made a move to duck underneath Gary’s table and hide there for the rest of the period, but unfortunately Gary had already spotted him. Smiling politely, he motioned Mark to come over. He was still stirring.

‘Hey, Marko.’

Mark blushed and ran his fingers through his hair nervously. He suddenly wished he hadn’t had his hair cut. At least when he still had longer hair he could more or less get away with blushing!

‘Hi, Gary,’ Mark mumbled. His heart was racing fast; he couldn’t remember the last time he and Gary had spoken, and he couldn’t for the life of him come up with a suitable conversation topic. Why oh why had Robbie insisted they talk?

‘How’re you and Robert getting on?’ Gary asked him. He gave Mark a subtle once-over, but Mark was feeling too overwhelmed to notice. ‘I like what you’ve done to your hair, by the way.’

‘T-thanks,’ Mark stuttered, staring at his feet to hide the stupid grin on his face. Gary had never complimented him on his looks before! A couple of metres away, large plumes of smoke were filing out of Mark’s cauldron like soap out of a broken washing machine. A coughing Robbie pointlessly tried waving the smoke away with his hand. ‘It’s going really well, yeah,’ Mark lied. ‘How ‘bout yours?’

Gary glanced at their professor, who was explaining something to an anxious-looking Hufflepuff at her desk. Mark recognized her as the girl who had almost poisoned their poor Divination teacher with a failed Cure for Boils. Imagine that, accidentally poisoning someone!

‘D’you know what, I haven’t a fucking clue,’ Gary whispered as though afraid that their professor would hear him and tell him off for using foul language. ‘Me classmates won’t let me do anything; I’m rubbish at potions, I am.’

Robbie accidentally dropped a vial of caterpillars onto the floor.

Mark mentally added “sucks at Potions” to the short list of things that he knew he and Gary had in common. It was strangely comforting to know that Gary was as bad at potions at he was.

(Robbie had once made an Actual List of Things That Mark and Gary Had In Common in the back of his Divination notebook, with “Are both super good at music stuff” on top. When their Divination teacher nearly read the list upon collecting their homework, Mark set the damn thing on fire and almost burnt down the entire school by accident. Hufflepuff lost 200 points for it.)

Gary started. ‘Eh up, what’s this?’ He got up from his chair and started moving his spoon as though fishing for something inside his potion. Mark intuitively took a few steps back.

‘Ah, ‘ere we go.’ When Gary removed his spoon from the thick, glowing substance inside his cauldron, the wooden utensil was covered in a strange brown drab. It also glowed.

Mark frowned. ‘Isn’t the potion supposed to become a clear liquid after you heat it?’

‘Hm. Did your notes say anything about this?’

‘Dunno, I lost them. And Rob drew cocks all over his,’ Mark added as an afterthought.

Gary smelled the brown, glowing drab on his spoon. Judging by his pained expression, it didn’t smell very nice. ‘ _Ugh._ Fucking disgusting, that. Here, smell.’

Mark waved his hand. ‘No, thanks.’

‘Fair enough.’ Gary stared helplessly at his potion, which was beginning to look less and less like the Shrinking Solution that Mark knew from his textbooks. From what Mark could remember, Shrinking Solution was supposed to look green; not . . . whatever colour this was. ‘Got any good ideas?’ 

Mark scratched the back of his head. How the fuck would _he_ know how to fix Gary’s Shrinking Solution? He couldn’t stand next to Gary andthink at the same time!

‘You could try . . . less stirring?’ Mark suggested uncertainly. To his surprise, Gary actually took his advice!

‘ _Aaanyway_ , I’m surprised to hear you’re so bad at Potions,’ Mark added in an attempt to steer the conversation away from just potions and brown drab. This was the longest chat they’d ever had! He started picking at a purple stain on his apron to give his nervous hands something to do. ‘I thought you grew up doing this stuff.’

It was Mark’s first attempt at asking Gary a personal question. Usually they talked about the weather and school-related topics, if even that. This new, brave attempt at in-class bonding had taken Mark such mental effort that it made his legs feel like jelly. Feeling like he was about to keel over, he leaned against Gary’s workstation as casually as he could.

Gary dropped his dirty spoon into the sink with a loud _clang_. ‘Dunno where you picked that idea up, mate,’ he said, laughing. ‘I’m a Muggle-born through and through, me.’

Mark released the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Gary wasn’t Pureblood! This was the fourth or fifth thing they had in common now. Mark was getting somewhere!

‘So when did you find out? About magic, I mean.’ Mark asked Gary. He knew it was a cliché question in the wizarding world, but it was one that usually managed to prolong a conversation considerably.

In the background, Robbie had disappeared behind a thick curtain of smoke.

Gary washed his hands in the sink. Mark had a thing for Gary’s hands; they were very large and veiny, and perfect for playing the piano (and . . . . other . . . things . . . that Mark never thought about).

‘I was in Chester to buy me first proper keyboard, you know,’ Gary told him earnestly, ‘this magnificent beauty of an instrument, about this big,’ – He used his hands to illustrate it – ‘And when we finally arrived at the shop I got so excited that all the keyboards and pianos started playing on their own cos of me.’ He laughed as though he just remembered something funny. ‘And then the owner of the store ran away screaming!’

Robbie could faintly be heard crying ‘Markie, I’m dyin’! Markie!’ but Mark, enamoured by Gary’s story, ignored it completely.

Not believing that Gary was telling him something quite so personal, Mark’s heart started beating fast again. Oh, how he wished to have been a part of Gary’s life back then! ‘Did you buy the keyboard though?’

Gary shook his head. ‘We had to get one off a mate of the family cos the same thing kept happening at every store we went to. Hang on,’ he said, glancing at the cauldron, ‘What’s that?’

Gary’s potion started bubbling over. Mark was knocked backwards by a strong force, and everything went black.

***

‘You look like shit, mate.’

‘Thanks, Howard. Appreciate it.’

Mark’s stomach was rumbling badly. He and Robbie had missed dinner, and all Mark could think of was a succulent roast chicken on a bed of garlic bread presented to him by an attractive – shirtless – waiter.

After they were finally allowed out of the sick ward an hour or so after their accidents, Mark and Robbie immediately ran to the Great Hall, only to find out that most of the dishes had long been cast away to the kitchen below by the House-elves. It had been an extremely disappointing way to end the school day, and Mark and Robbie sulked all the way to the courtyard where they always met up with the others.

Jason handed them both a meagre looking salad on separate plates. Mark’s portion looked considerably bigger, and Mark kindly fished up some lettuce with his fork and deposited it onto Robbie’s plate. ‘This is all that was left. Sorry, lads.’

The four of them sat on the grass in silence while Robbie and Mark ate their dinner. It was a bright spring evening, and the sun was still shining. The sun felt warm on their backs. The grass had recently been mowed by the groundskeeper, tickling the boys’ nostrils with a fresh, earthy scent that reminded Mark of their tiny garden back in Oldham. It was good to be sitting here, away from angry professors and failed experiments.  

‘So what ‘appened?’ Howard asked the two Hufflepuffs after a while. Howard was their shy Gryffindor friend with a dirty mind, and Muggle-born like the rest of them. Robbie and Mark met him at The Three Broomsticks several years ago (Mark accidentally knocked over his pint of Butterbeer), and they began seeing each other more often when it turned out that Jason was their mutual friend. The four of them were inseparable now, and they were always getting each other into trouble.

Mark rudely answered with his mouth full.

Howard didn’t quite hear that. ‘Gary’s _what_ exploded into your face?’

Mark swallowed a tomato. ‘Cauldron. ‘s my fault, I told him to stop stirring,’ he mumbled, feeling a little bit guilty that Gary had ended up in the sick ward because of him. Mark had been so overwhelmed by the fact that he was finally having a proper conversation with his Slytherin crush that he totally forgot having read Robbie’s large handwritten instructions on his notes: “DO NOT STOP STIRRING AT ANY TIME.”

Thankfully Gary didn’t seem to be angry at Mark at all when they descended the staircase from the Hospital Tower together. If anything, Gary seemed to be glad that the incident had given him and his classmates another chance at perfecting their Shrinking Solution. Mark even thought that Gary had sort of smiled at him before they went their separate ways.

‘Is Gary alright?’ Jason asked him, sounding concerned. He brushed a leaf off Howard’s shoulder.

‘Yeah, he got off with a light burn on his arm. Nothing serious, thank God.’

‘You talked to ‘im afterwards, didn’t you?’ asked Robbie. He accidentally sent a tomato flying off his fork.

Robbie only caught up with Mark _after_ Gary had left for the Slytherin Dungeons. Robbie’s accident had been substantially worse, and Madame Pomfrey insisted he stay a little bit longer for extra checks. Thankfully, nothing seemed to be the matter.

Mark nodded. ‘He said he didn’t mind that much cos his potion was shit to begin with.’

‘Maybe he just wanted you to kiss ‘im better,’ Howard teased.

Mark nearly choked on some lettuce.

‘So what happened to you, then, Robbie?’ Jason said.

In a very dramatic fashion, Robbie told the lads that he had “been left in charge” of their Shrinking Solution because Mark had to “carry out a mission of his own”, and that their cauldron then started releasing smoke that smelled of peppermint and badly cleaned public toilets and that he woke up ten minutes later in the Hospital Wing. Apparently the smoke was deadly poisonous, and if their teacher hadn’t cancelled the class immediately Robbie would have spent the rest of his life with one arm and bad hearing.

‘Do you know what caused it?’ asked Jason. He seemed very impressed with Robbie’s story.

Robbie shook his head. He didn’t say that their Potions professor later told him that not adding caterpillars to their concoction had been a terrible, terrible mistake. (She had also said that perhaps Mark and Robbie should just consider giving up on Potions altogether before someone ended up in St. Mungo’s . . .)

‘I’m glad you’re still with us, Rob,’ Mark said, meaning it. He put his empty plate on the grass and wiped his hands on his dirty cardigan. He hadn’t had a change of clothes despite having been soaked by the contents of Gary’s cauldron. He’d take a nice, long shower later; now he just wanted to be with his mates.

A pleasant wind blew through the courtyard.

‘I think you was just too busy staring at Gary,’ Howard told Mark, uttering “Gary” in a teasing manner. ‘When are you going to ask him out?’

Mark heaved an exaggerated sigh. He’d had this conversation with his mates a thousand times. Why couldn’t they just see that he and Gary being together would only lead to disaster? ‘He doesn’t fancy me,’ Mark moaned for the umpteenth time.

‘You don’t know that,’ said Robbie, also for the umpteenth time. ‘Hang on,’ he added suddenly, a glimmer of an idea appearing in his boyish features, ‘Why don't we use _magic_ to win Gary's heart?’

Jason and Howard looked at their mate as though he'd just come up with the best idea ever to have come out of the wizarding world. What a legend!

Mark, less convinced by Robbie’s suggestion, covered his face with his hands. He had gone completely red. _Use magic to win Gary's heart? Had Robbie gone completely mental?_

‘We are _not_ going to use magic!’ he exclaimed finally, and he hoped that would put an end to Robbie’s outlandish ideas.

But unfortunately, Robbie had already made up his mind; this was the best thing he'd ever put his name to! His best mate was going to go out with his crush, and it would all be thanks to him!

The following week was hell for Mark. Although he meant it well, all of Rob's little schemes to get Gary to notice Mark didn't go particularly well: on Monday, Robbie tried hypnotizing Gary, only to end up hypnotizing himself. Every time someone mentioned “wand”, Robbie would start mooing like a cow. On Tuesday, and since recovered from his own hypnotism, Robbie used an owl up in the Owlery to send Gary a love poem he'd nicked off a book. Unfortunately, Robbie's owl ended up flying into a closed window.

In Muggle Music, the boys’ favourite subject, Robbie enchanted the professor’s saxophone so that it started playing _Careless Whisper_ every time Mark walked into the classroom late. Robbie thought he could see Gary smile a little at that, but their professor didn't find it very funny.

Even Jason had a go! In Herbology, our clever Ravenclaw started growing beautiful roses that Mark could hopefully one day give to Gary. Unfortunately, the roses turned out to have awful teeth.

Things took a turn for the worse when Howard decided he wanted a slice of the action as well, and unleashed his unparalleled Divination skills on the unwitting Slytherin. The students had to work in pairs and try to predict each other’s future using tea leaves, and Howard literally climbed over his table to claim Gary as his partner while Mark looked on horror-struck from the other side of the room.

When Howard and Gary both had a cup of “brown stuff” to elicit unreliable information from, Howard cut right to the chase: ‘It don’t look like much, but I think I see . . . a short person . . . with brown ‘air . . .’ Howard pretended to be looking into the cup very hard, ‘You have unfinished business, the two of yous . . . perhaps even . . . _romantically,_ ’ he added with an air of theatrics. He glanced at Gary sideways to see if it had sparked a reaction, but Gary remained impassive.

‘That’s a load of bollocks, that.’ Feeling rather cheated, Gary motioned Howard to hand over the cup, but Howard held it in the air so Gary couldn’t reach. ‘Lemme see, Howard.’

‘Can’t, it’s against the _rules_. C’mon,’ Howard said enthusiastically, ignoring Gary’s eye roll, ‘What’s mine say?’

In the corner of his eye, Howard saw Mark drag an imaginary line across his throat, but Howard ignored it. He was doing his best for Mark here!

Sighing, Gary looked into Howard’s cup. It just looked like squished tea leaves to him, and as far as he was concerned Tessomancy was just a waste of good tea. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ruffle the Gryffindor’s feathers a little bit. ‘Says ‘ere that you’re gonna be attacked by trolls in the near future, mate.’ He put down Howard’s cup and leaned backward. ‘I think you’re done for, really. Poor old Howard . . . At least you made it past your O.W.L.s, eh?’

‘It don’t say that!’ Howard cried.

‘. . . No, it doesn’t.’

By the time Howard was able to have a private conversation with Mark at the end of the lesson (they had covered Tessomancy as well as crystal-gazing), he was sorry to report that he hadn’t learned anything new about Gary whatsoever apart from the fact that he was a “naughty little shit”:

‘He told me I was gonna die!’

‘He might’ve been right, you know.’ Mark carefully placed his Divination books into his shoulder bag and lifted up the heavy crystal ball that he’d borrowed from the professor that afternoon. He had to put it back in the cupboard up in the attic now; students weren’t allowed to borrow school-owned materials unless they had written permission from the headmaster.

‘Anyway, I also told your boyfriend that ‘e had to pay more attention to the short, brown-haired individuals in ‘is life,’ Howard admitted. He flashed a smile at an attractive Gryffindor girl that was headed for the exit.

Mark almost dropped his crystal ball. ‘You _told_ him about me?’

‘Not specifically.’

‘“Short and brown-haired” is pretty specific!’ Mark whined. He should never have told his mates he fancied Gary. ‘You bastard.’

When Howard and Mark had finally climbed up the stairs to the attic where the Divination materials were stored, the two mates were still bickering.

‘I’m just saying, Mark, you need to put yourself out there if you finally wanna get laid.’

Mark was about to say something, but stopped and swerved when he spotted Gary standing in front of a cupboard by his lonesome.

‘Hi, Howard. Mark,’ Gary said dryly, and Mark casually turned back around as though he had not been planning to sprint back down the stairs. His crush had three fragile-looking crystal balls in his hands, and he was awkwardly struggling with the doors of the cupboard.

Gary looked at the two mates uncertainly. ‘Could you, um, hold me balls for a sec?’

‘Sure,’ said Howard, prying two of the crystal balls from Gary’s grasp and handing them to Mark, who nearly fell backwards over their collective weight. ‘I’m sure Mark would _love_ to hold your balls, wouldn’t you, Mark?’

Gary pretended he hadn’t heard that and opened the cupboard with ease.

‘I’m going to set all your clothes on fire,’ Mark quietly warned Howard with an innocent smile on his face.

‘No, you won’t,’ Howard chortled, and he turned away and left the two boys on their own with a cheeky grin on his face — and without so much as a proper goodbye, as well!

Ignoring Howard’s sudden exit, Gary was busy putting his borrowed crystal balls back into the cupboard. He motioned Mark to do the same, and they worked in silence as they filled the empty shelves with other objects they found lying neglected on the floor. Mark wasn’t complaining; it gave him time to think about a conversational subject, and their professor might give them extra points for their respective Houses for leaving the cupboard in such an organized state!

‘So . . . how’s your arm?’ Mark asked Gary shyly when they finally closed the cupboard together. They hadn’t mentioned the Potions incident since they left the Hospital Wing, and Mark was half afraid that Gary would say he actually really hated Mark for what had happened.

‘The wound’s still healing, but other than that I’m fine,’ said Gary. Mark was relieved to hear that there was not a hint of a grudge in that statement.

Gary rolled up the sleeve of his cardigan to show a large scar on the inside of his arm. The sight filled Mark both with guilt and pleasure; guilt because he had expected the wound to have disappeared by now (for they _did_ go to a school for magic), and pleasure because Mark hadn’t seen Gary show that much skin before. Whereas Mark liked wearing his cardigans with his sleeves rolled up, Gary seemed to want to cover up everything, which was strange: Gary had very nice arms. Muscular, almost.

The problem with a dress code was that everyone looked pretty much the same: white dress shirt, uncomfortable tie, loose-fitting cardigan. Trousers for boys, skirts for girls. (Usually.) It made it incredibly difficult for Mark to decipher what Gary looked like underneath all those layers of clothing. Gary was definitely a thin guy, but he also looked like he might have some meat on him.

Mark shivered just thinking about it.

Now that they were alone, Mark could finally look at Gary properly; at his wriggly eyebrows and short hair, and the tiny scar on his face that Mark presumed Gary got when he was a child. And his lips, thin but inviting.

‘May I . . .?’ Slowly, Mark reached out to touch the scarring on Gary’s arm. Gary inhaled sharply when Mark’s fingers brushed his skin, but he covered it up by clearing his throat and saying something about one of Madame Pomfrey’s magical remedies. Mark didn’t seem to notice the diversion. All he could think about was how soft Gary’s skin was, and how badly he wished he could touch it for real.

He wished he had the courage to just lean in and kiss him, no matter the consequences.

‘Does it hurt?’ Mark asked him. His heart was beating inside his throat. Gary’s skin appeared to be radiating heat. ‘I think one of me mates has a special cream for this,’ he added as an afterthought.

There was the sound of shuffling feet behind them, but neither of the boys seemed to notice it.

‘A little,’ said Gary, his voice sounding deeper than usual. ‘And I’m fine, thanks.’

Mark stared at his shoes. ‘I’m really sorry for what happened.’

Gary casually waved his hand in the air, and the magic of the moment disappeared into thin air. ‘Don’t be. It could’ve happened to anyone.’ Looking a little bit flustered, Gary picked up his bag from the floor. Something about him seemed different in the half-light up in the attic, but Mark couldn’t quite tell what it was.

‘I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?’ Gary asked. He definitely sounded different.

Mark nodded. ‘Yeah.’

‘OK. See you, Marko.’

‘Bye, Gary.’

And with that Gary left, leaving Mark to wonder what had caused the beginnings of a smile on Gary’s face. 


	2. Guilty Feet

Over the course of spring, the lads’ attempts to get Mark closer to their handsome Slytherin peer sizzled out into a slow, natural demise. One pointless scheme after another, the boys didn't really feel like trying anymore. They were hoping that Mark would finally grow a pair and do something about his problem himself.

But then one day Robbie turned up with his battered copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ , and a new cycle of futile matchmaking started all over again.

‘What's this?’ said Mark, nodding at Robbie's textbook before sipping his delicious honey-sweetened jasmine tea.

‘It's _Advanced Potion-Making_.’

Mark rolled his eyes. ‘I know that, but why have you got it with you?’

Robbie took a bite of his cheese sandwich. Along with a large group of Gryffindor boys and girls, Mark and Robbie were the only ones still in the Great Hall. There was also a tall Slytherin reading a book on the floor just outside the large wooden doors, but neither of the boys noticed that he wasn’t actually reading. ’We’re gonna make a love potion,’ Rob said nonchalantly.

Mark nearly spat out his tea. ‘No. Just . . . no. _Dude_.’

Robbie dramatically leaned forward and looked around to make sure they weren’t being listened to. Lowering his voice, he said, ‘Have you got any other ideas?’

‘No, but aren't love potions basically like, you know, poisoning someone?’ Mark grimaced. ‘I don't wanna be a part of that.’

Robbie blinked. ‘I thought _you'd_ have to drink it.’

Mark heaved an exasperated sigh and took another sip of his tea. Trust Robbie to come up with a car crash of a plan and then not look into the details! Sometimes Mark wondered why Robbie hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor like their Dougie: Robbie fitted “recklessness” to a tee.

‘No, Rob, mate, _Gary_ would have to drink it,’ Mark explained. He mindlessly dipped a butter cookie into his tea. ‘Are you sure you're in the right House?’

‘What?’

‘Never mind.’ Mark put his tea-dunked cookie into his mouth and chewed angrily. He was beginning to feel quite frustrated about this whole “getting Mark and Gary together” malarkey. Couldn't his mates see that he didn't want their help? They were only making things worse! ‘Anyway, Rob, have you ever actually _read_ our Potions textbook?’

Robbie thought about it. ‘Um . . .’

‘Exactly. We're not doing it, end of.’

Robbie then pouted and _literally_ fluttered his eyelashes at Mark, which he knew was a sure-fire way of getting Mark to do what he wanted. ‘Please, Mark, for me?’

Mark's conscience churned. He had obviously learned about the effects of Amortentia in class, and he knew that the potion was used for heinous purposes a lot — especially on unwitting young witches and wizards in pubs. Then again, he didn’t want to turn down Rob’s help, and it's not as though he was planning to force Gary to sleep with him; all Mark wanted, was . . .

What _was_ it that Mark wanted?

‘If – _if_ we do this,’ Mark said, lowering his voice as their Study of Ancient Runes professor passed them, ‘what will happen?’

‘Well, Gary would fall in love with you, wouldn't he? That's what you want, innit?’

Mark put down his empty cup of tea, and his cup and saucer magically disappeared. Truth be told, he hadn't really thought about what he wanted at all. He knew that he fancied Gary very much and that merely looking at him made him feel all warm and pleasant inside (and in more places than one), but Gary fancying him back felt like such a farfetched idea that he had never even considered what he'd want if they ever got together.

He told Robbie so.

The group of Gryffindors at the other table stood up and left, making Mark and Robbie the only students still in the Great Hall.

‘Would you like to go on a date with Gary?’ Robbie asked Mark earnestly.

Mark had no idea what that entailed, but sure. Perhaps they could go to a wizard rock concert together. Gary would like that, Mark thought.

‘What about kissing him?’

Mark blushed.

‘Would you have sex with him?’

Mark wisely decided to keep that answer to himself.

‘Okay, so dates and kissing,’ Robbie summarized. ‘Amortentia can do that for ya. Besides, the potion is pretty harmless; it’s only when you’ve got bad intentions that it can go south, really. There’s this couple down in Stoke who used a love potion on each other when they were young, and they’re still together, dog and kids and everything! Although, I think the dog turned out to be a werewolf . . .’

Mark sighed. He'd been talked around, of course he had.

‘Fine,’ Mark sighed, ‘but I don't want you telling the others all about it. And we’ll stop at the first signs of trouble, all right?’

He leaned over the table to grab Robbie's Potions textbook. If they were going to go ahead with this, _he_ wanted to be the one in charge of the recipe. ‘So what's the first step?’

The first step, Robbie explained enthusiastically, was fairly simple: all they'd have to do was gather the correct ingredients. Some of these ingredients (that we won't mention because we don’t want you, the reader, to try making this powerful potion at home!) were rather obscure even for Hogwarts standards and had to be discreetly “borrowed” from a cabinet. Others were easier to acquire, such as by asking Jason, our keen herbologist, to grow them for them “for reasons”.

While the two Hufflepuff mates worked on their potion day and night, Mark thankfully hadn't lost the appetite for small talk. Even this morning he'd talked to Gary about their homework for Muggle Music (writing a free-form essay about the influence of _The Beatles_ ; Mark was planning to cleverly interpolate the melody of _Oh Darling_ into a song of his own, and Gary had seemed dead impressed). Mark managed to get through the conversation without knocking over any important canisters, and without accidentally telling his crush what he was secretly up to.

Despite Mark's hidden reservations about the making of the potion, time moved on as it normally does at Hogwarts, and before long Mark and Robbie had a potion left to “simmer” in the boys’ restrooms in the southern corridor of the castle. Although the textbook didn't specifically state that one should wait days between the making of the potion and the administering thereof, Robbie insisted that they leave the magical substance to “prove” for a few days.

Mark frowned. This did not seem like a good plan at all. ‘Rob, it's not a _cake_! When the potion is finished, it's finished.’

They were stood inside a tiny public toilet, looking curiously at their potion. Robbie had locked the door with a simple spell a few days ago so no one would find their secret project and report it to the headmaster. (Or at least he _thought_ he had locked the door with a simple spell a few days ago . . .)

Mark was pinching his nose; it was very smelly inside the toilet.

Robbie bent over and smelled the potion as though that might tell him whether they had succeeded or not. The concoction had a strange, moss green colour. ‘Can you smell Turkish delight?’

‘Are you sure the Amortentia needs to stay in here?’ said Mark, avoiding Robbie’s question. He was still pinching his nose, which was making his voice sound all funny. ‘Don't potions have an expiration date or something? I really don’t want it to go wrong _again_ , you know!’

Robbie had no idea. ‘Of course not. We'll keep it in ‘ere for another day and then we'll get it to that boyfriend of yours.’

(What we have convieniently failed to tell you is that this was the boys’ _second_ attempt at making the love potion this week: the first time the potion bubbled over and turned into chocolate milk because the wrong mushrooms had been used. During the gathering of the important ingriedient the boys were so busy making silly jokes – ‘Markie, why did the mushroom go the party? . . . Because he’s a fungi!’ etcetera., etcetera. – that they picked white mushrooms instead of the required portobellos. In the end they had to ask Jason for help, who was starting to suspect that the boys were Up To Something. However, when the all-seeing Ravenclaw told Howard about it, Howard merely shrugged and said that Rob and Mark were probably trying to create some sort of “recreational mixture”. This comment did not go down well with the Head Boy.)

Over the next few hours, boys keen to have a piss came and went, but none of them quite noticed the strange glow illuminating the inside one of the toilet stalls. None of them seemed to notice the ever-changing smell of peppermint, fresh linen, old bookstores and rose-scented perfume, either, nor the odd gurgling sounds that were drowned out by the flushing of toilets. By the time morning broke, the glow, the smells, and the strange sounds had disappeared completely, leaving an innocent-looking mint green potion. In fact, it looked exactly like it had in Robbie's textbook.

Or did it?

In fact, Robbie thought their cauldron suddenly looked slightly larger and older . . .

Still, Robbie felt confident that the potion was finished, and the next day the boys went to pick it up after awkwardly having to explain why they were in the toilet together to a perceptive Ravenclaw boy.

Later that day, Mark suggested they serve the amorous drink in an inconspicuous tea cup under the pretence that they had grown their own tea leaves and wanted people to try them out (in the form of tea, that is; eating tea leaves on their own is generally not a pleasant experience). Mark, as he kept reminding Robbie, did _not_ want to spike Gary's drink, and this was the best idea they had. They could even get away with pretending it was for school!

Thanks to Jason's connections as Head Boy, it was soon discovered that Gary spent each Sunday afternoon studying in a disused classroom with a classmate of his. This is where the potion would be administered.

Tiptoeing, Mark peeked into the tiny, dirty glass frame of the classroom door. He was holding a large tray full of teacups that had moving images of the Mad Hatter on them. They'd cleverly brought along extra cups of tea so as not to raise suspicion; only one cup was filled with Amortentia, and Robbie had of course remembered to mark it.

Robbie, predictably, was feeling as though he was in some sort of spy movie. Mark was feeling as though he was about to shit himself.

‘You never said Gary studied with a _girl_ every Sunday,’ Mark sulked.

Gary and a long-haired girl with a prominent nose were sitting at a desk together. They seemed to be working hard: their desk was filled with parchment scrolls and textbooks that Mark did not recognize. They were working on Arithmancy together, which Gary's female friend was very good at. She'd always had a thing for the subject, and was even considering pursuing a job in the Arithmancy field after she graduated. Gary wasn’t particularly good at it himself and had asked the girl from year six if she might consider helping him out.

A sigh from Mark. ‘She's pretty as well. Should I be worried? I should be worried, shouldn't I?’

Robbie took a long, hard look at the girl. She was drop-dead gorgeous, and totally Robbie's type, if a bit tall. She had legs that went on for miles and miles, and a delicately sized bosom that Robbie decided he definitely liked the look of. ‘She's a bit plain, that's what she is,’ Robbie lied. ‘Not a patch on your handsome self.’

‘I'm doomed,’ Mark sighed, and tea nearly came sloshing out of the cups because he wasn't keeping his tray straight.

Robbie took over Mark's tray with a pair of steady hands. For a second it looked as if Rob thought something was wrong with the tray, but then he blinked and nodded at Mark confidently.

‘Do as I do,’ Rob said while playing the James Bond theme song in his head, and he pushed the door open by leaning into it with his body. He didn't bother knocking. ‘Anyone fancy some tea?’

‘Hey, Marko, Robert,’ said Gary when he saw who had come into his secret hideaway. He didn't seem peeved to have his study session interrupted, and put down his quill and waved a hand at his attractive female companion. ‘This is Charlie, everyone.’

Charlie smiled politely at the two Hufflepuffs. She didn't share any classes with them for she was only in her sixth year, but Gary had obviously told them about their odd antics. In his chats Gary had seemed particularly fond of the one called Mark, whom Charlie assumed was the taller guy with the dark hair: he was very cute!

‘What's this then, eh?’ said Gary, having smelled the familiar scent of Earl Grey the moment his Hufflepuff peers walked into the dusty classroom. The tea also smelled vaguely of what he thought was lavender, and Gary assumed the tea was a new blend that he hadn't tried yet. ‘This a school project or something? Smells good, that.’

Mark was too busy staring at the ground to notice that Gary had looked him up and down.

‘It's for Herbology, this,’ said Robbie, who was completely in his element. ‘We’ve made some tea leaves with the help of our good friend Magic.’

‘Is it some sort of lavender infusion?’ Gary asked, curious. Gary loved a good afternoon tea at his local tearoom in Frodsham, and being able to recognize certain teas from a mile off was one of his Special Skills.

Robbie frowned. ‘It's . . . not, actually, it's . . .’ He looked at Mark for support, who was looking redder than red. ‘It's Rooibos, innit Mark?’

Mark's heart was beating so fast that he could only nod.

‘That's odd, I could swear I smelled lavender. D’you mind if I . . .?’

‘Not at all, Sir,’ said Robbie in an exaggerated posh voice, and he gave Gary and Charlie a cup of tea each. He had even gone through the effort to bake small cookies to complement the Rooibos infusion.

With a quickly beating heart, Mark watched how Gary and Charlie drank their tea.

This was it. This is when Gary would fall in love with him.

And then Charlie collapsed.

***

‘How ‘bout I get you a hot chocolate, eh?’

‘No, thank you, Professor Hooch, Miss.’

‘You sure? You look like you could use a cuppa, love.’

‘I'm f-fine, thank you . . .’

Professor Hooch rested a sympathetic hand on Mark's shoulder and left Mark to fight the demons that the teacher knew he was dealing with on his own. He was sitting on the floor in a dark, empty corridor, his head resting against the wood panelling on the wall. He had his arms wrapped around his knees. He hadn't stopped shaking since last Sunday and hadn't spoken to his mates in what felt like forever. He hadn't gone to any of his classes. He didn't even know what day it was.

Charlie was admitted to St Mungo’s several days after her freak accident. Even the highly skilled and experienced Madame Pomfrey couldn't find a cure for the severe seizures that Charlie suffered from day in day out as a result of serious poisoning.

It had all just gone so, so wrong; after Charlie had even so much _sipped_ her “tea”, she collapsed and had a seizure. A bad one. Everything happened very fast after that, and the only thing Mark could still remember was crying and shaking and blurting out in front of everyone that he had accidentally poisoned Charlie with the Amortentia that was meant for Gary.

Gary then looked at Mark with shock written all over his face and told him to leave the Hospital Wing. Immediately.

The worst thing was that Gary hadn't even raised his voice or told Mark to fuck off; he'd said it softly, like he was sad and disappointed rather than pissed off. Disappointed in Mark. Like he'd expected so much better.

It would have been much easier if Gary had just punched him in the face.

Mark did as he was told, and he'd been feeling depressed ever since. He had ruined a perfectly acceptable relationship with Gary, and quite possibly seriously injured Charlie by taking his fate in his own hands. He'd misused his powers and privileges as a wizard and crossed the line. He was surprised he hadn't been expelled over it, actually. All the headmaster had done, was give him a cup of tea (which Mark declined) and a good talking to. He'd also banned him and Robbie from ever attending Potions again, and confiscated their copies of _Advanced Potion-Making._

But Gary was probably never going to talk to him ever again, and he'd rather be expelled than having to bear the weight of this ruined relationship.

Worse still, Gary knew Mark fancied him, and Charlie might not ever recover from her poisoning.

Mark had well and truly fucked everything up.

***

A couple of days later, things took an unexpected turn when Professor Persistence, their tall substitute teacher who taught them Transfiguration for the time being, announced a brand new group project ahead of the students’ dreadfully difficult Spring exams. Mark had started going to his classes again by now, albeit only because Rob dragged him out of bed one morning and threatened to burn Mark’s collection of football memorabilia if he didn’t go to class with him.

(Robbie was persuasive like that.)

Each time Mark saw Gary and his Slytherin classmates, he felt an uncomfortable knot in his stomach, like someone had pumped lead into his body and thrown him into the Lake. As feared, he hadn’t talked to Gary ever since he left poor Charlie in the Hospital Wing, and he doubted that they would ever share another word.

To make matters worse, Mark thought he could feel judgmental pairs of eyes burning into his neck every time he entered a room, and he stopped being the cheerful, cheeky lad that Robbie knew him as. One Slytherin in particular was looking at him as though Mark was some sort of evil troll. Mark didn’t blame him; the guy was probably good friends with Charlie.

Mark didn’t even laugh when Howard slyly asked Jason if there were ever misunderstandings about his tasks as “ _Head_ Boy”. The potions incident had stayed relatively quiet, but it didn’t stop Mark from feeling paranoid that everyone secretly hated him for what had happened.

He had poisoned a fellow student.

He had done so because he fancied someone. A _guy_.

How much worse could things get?

That morning, Professor Persistence blandly explained the new Transfigurations project. The students were to try out a series of transfigurations from _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration,_ and write extensive notes on how to make the enchantments better. Extra points would be given to those who could decipher the mistake on page 227 of their textbook.

The professor, generally a bit ignorant when it came to her students’ private lives and extracurricular activities, told Robbie to work with a girl he’d once turned into a pig by accident.

She had also paired up Mark and Gary.

Gary, who was sitting at a desk at the other side of the room, turned deadly pale when this terrible news was announced. It left a nasty pain in Mark’s chest, and the heaviness in his head and his limbs became even harder to bear. Why was this happening to him?

Noticing how anxious Mark had suddenly become, Robbie grabbed his hand underneath the table and squeezed until the end of the lesson two minutes later. Uttering a mumbled “thanks” to Rob, Mark got up with difficulty and started towards his professor. He’d do the project alone if he had to, just not with Gary.  

Gary . . . hated him.

Gary hated him.

When Mark and Gary had both begged their professor to let them do the project with someone else, she stubbornly refused. The clock having struck six, the other students had left by now. Mark, feeling like he might need a moment alone later, begged Rob to not wait up for him, and save him some food at the dinner table. Robbie did so, but not without glancing at Mark worriedly before heading out of the door.

Robbie, it has to be said, didn’t regret his actions. He didn’t regret trying his best to get Gary to fall for Mark. At the end of the day, all Robbie really wanted was for his best mate to feel happy in life and love. Mark hadn’t had the easiest of rides at Hogwarts what with his being one of the few openly queer students in Hufflepuff, and only quite recently had Mark started feeling truly at home here. Mark was one of the few people Rob truly admired, and the _one_ person he wished had it better than everyone else. Gary, Robbie knew, could very well be the key to Mark’s happiness.

So why, in their segregated world of monsters and magic, couldn’t they manage to get something as perfectly ordinary as dating and being dated right?

‘You’ll do as you’re told, Marcus, Gareth,’ Professor Persistence said with the air of someone who thought she was incredibly important. Mark and Gary were trying their hardest to avoid each other’s eyes, but the snobby teacher didn’t spot it. It was a miracle she even knew the boys’ names. (Sort of, anyway.) She continued, ‘I am expecting a copy of your essay on my desk in six weeks’ time. If it is not evident that you have worked on it together, I shall not grade it. Good luck.’

With that, the professor strode off in her black stilettos.

Peeved, Gary crossed his arms. The day being rather hot, he was only wearing his white dress shirt and black trousers. Mark felt guilty just thinking about how good he looked, and stared at his shoes.

He should be over him by now.

Gary, too, had his eyes fixed on something else. There were various complicated reasons why he didn’t want to have to work with Mark – reasons other than the ones Mark assumed! –, but at the same time he didn’t want to fail this project. Failing Transfigurations was like handing in his letter of leave to the headmaster, and he didn’t want to give up on school just because of some _boy._

But God, Mark was making it so difficult for himself.

It could all have been so, so much easier.

Gary swallowed. ‘I _will_ work with you, Mark,’ he mumbled, fingering the upturned sleeves of his shirt so he didn’t have to look at the Hufflepuff, ‘but that’s it for me, mate, sorry. I . . .’ He frowned as he tried to think of how best to formulate the thoughts that had been keeping him up at night. The thoughts that ran through his head over and over, sitting at Charlie’s bed in the hospital room.

Nodding slightly, Mark knew exactly what Gary was going to say. He’d been preparing himself for this moment day in, day out.

‘Christ, Mark, I really don’t know what to think of you right now,’ Gary finally blurted out.

There was an uncomfortable silence as Mark thought about the meaning of these words. A group of students passed their empty classroom. They were laughing about something, and Mark felt like he had stumbled into some weird world where everything was dark and awful and unfair. It was _so_ unfair. Love was meant to make him feel giddy and excited, not leave this hollow feeling in his chest. How could others be having fun when he felt as though the carpet had just been pulled from under his feet?

The Slytherin thought he had the courage to look Mark in the eyes, but he didn’t: upon attempting it, he immediately looked away and stared at a star chart on the wall. ‘I’m sorry, Mark. God knows I’ve tried. We’ll do this project, and then . . .’ He scratched his right arm nervously. ‘Then I’m not sure if I want to speak to you anymore.’

Mark nodded. His lower lip was trembling. He’d seen it coming, but it still felt like a crushing blow. ‘Okay,’ was all that he could muster. He rubbed his eyes. ‘Okay.’

Gary cleared his throat. ‘I’ll see you at the library on Friday. At seven. Just don’t . . .’ Gary didn’t know how that sentence was going to end. ‘Just don’t fuck it up again,’ he said with a hint of regret, and he grabbed his things and left.

When Gary closed the classroom door behind him, he heard Mark break down in a sob.

Forcing a smile on his face, Gary joined his Slytherin classmates at the end of the hallway.


	3. In The Clear

Mark, still feeling utterly useless and depressed, had hardly slept in the run-up to his next meeting with Gary. Having previously always felt butterflies in his belly whenever he saw the blonde Slytherin, he was now dreading seeing him very much. So much so, that he hadn’t even bothered to put on a fresh set of clothes that morning.

In a strange turn of events, it was up to Robbie to make Mark look as good as possible before heading out to the library. After all, Mark couldn’t show up at the library with omelette still on his uniform; the intimidating librarian would kick him out!

After Rob had given Mark a brand new set of clothes, Robbie took his mate by the hand and stood him before the mirror. Since the day of the exploding Shrinking Solution, Mark’s hair had grown considerably: it was now half-long and curly, with hair covering his forehead. He hadn’t bothered to have it cut.

Robbie gesticulated demonstratively at Mark’s reflection, the way one would normally present a brand new sports car or Nimbus broomstick. ‘What’d you think?’

Robbie clearly thought Mark looked particularly fit that evening, but Mark wasn’t seeing it.

Indifferent, he shrugged his shoulders. He was in a bit of a mood tonight. ‘What difference is it gonna make? He _hates_ me.’

‘Don’t be silly, he loves ya. I can see it in ‘is eyes and everything,’ Robbie said, meaning it. He really did still believe that Mark and Gary were meant for each other. There was just something in the way that Gary looked at Mark that had a double layer, a secret meaning. It very much reminded him of Jason eyeing a pudding or Bakewell Tart in the Great Hall — even though Jay had swornhe would only eat his healthy superfood shakes and homemade dishes from now on! It was just one ofthose _looks_.

Besides – and he hadn’t told Mark this –; when had they ever seen Gary with a girlfriend?

Gary was handsome. He was a nice guy. He had good hair. Nice eyebrows, too.

So why couldn’t he pull a bird?

Robbie mentally applauded himself for being so perceptive, and said nothing as he started doing Mark’s tie.

‘I’m surprised you haven’t fitted me tie with a microphone, you know,’ Mark said. He shivered when Rob’s hands brushed his sensitive skin, and blessed Robbie for not bringing it up.

‘D’you reckon I should’ve done? It’d be like a spy movie, me giving you tips in your ear.’

‘Nah, I can hardly concentrate on one thing at a time.’

When Rob had finished his tie, Mark looked into the mirror again. He looked exactly as he had done before the change of clothes, except _this_ cardigan didn’t have an omelette stain on it. ‘I don’t look too try-hard, do I? I don’t want Barlow to think I’ve dressed up for him or something. Which I haven’t,’ he added under his breath.

‘I don’t see how you could, mate, everyone here wears the same uniform.’ Robbie scratched his chin in careful thought. ‘I wonder what Gary wears when he’s at ‘ome? I bet he works out in the summer every morning, don’t you reckon? Wearing tight jogging pants,’ he deliberately thought out loud just so he could see Mark blush again, ‘and sleeveless shirts . . .’

‘Ugh, don’t even go there,’ Mark said with a cringe, and he started packing his oversized shoulder bag with things he thought he might needed: quills, parchment, glass phials, random objects like pebbles and Muggle pennies in case they needed to transfigure something, a bottle of Jason’s herbal anti-everything cream, books.

Jason and Howard, who had of course been brought up to speed by Robbie, had kindly lent him their old Transfigurations books — but not without giving Mark and Rob a good old-fashioned lecture. Jason in particular was absolutely _furious_ about what had happened, and claimed it would never have happened at all if he had been informed about it.  

Howard just shrugged his shoulders and called his Hufflepuff friends an affectionate word starting with “w” and rhyming with “bankers”.  

Mark fingered the sleeve of one of his borrowed Transfiguration books. ‘What if he won’t talk to me, though?’

Gary’s words – _I’m not sure if I want to speak to you anymore_ – were still ringing in Mark’s ears each night. He’d broken down and analysed the sentence word for word, but no matter how often Mark repeated it in his mind, it still came down to the same thing: Gary disliked him immensely, and how could he not? Charlie was still in hospital with no chances of recovery, and Mark had practically admitted to wanting to poison Gary.

If some idiot did the same thing to Rob or Jay or Dougie, Mark would probably be pissed off, too.

Robbie handed Mark an extra quill. ‘‘s gonna make working on your project very difficult if he doesn’t. You’ll be fine, okay?’ he added when Mark pouted sadly, and he kissed his best mate on the cheek. It made Mark blush again. ‘You’re dead fit and smart and all that and if he doesn’t see that he’s just a twat. But he’s _not_ a twat, and he probably just needs time to think about what ‘appened. You’ve got your parchment?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Books?’

‘All three.’

‘You’ve been readin’ up on Transfiguration like Jay told you to?’

Mark sighed. ‘Yeah, yeah.’

Robbie looked at his watch. ‘6:46.’

Mark arrived at the library ten minutes later. Gary wasn’t there.

For a second Mark was worried that Gary had forgotten about their study meeting. Or worse, that it had all been a stitch-up to fuck with his mind.

He stared at the watch that Robbie had lent him. The longer he looked at it, the more uncertain he became of the details of their meeting. _Were_ they meeting today? Was Mark even entirely sure that the library was their meeting place?

Had he gotten it all wrong?

_God, he’d gotten it all wrong!_

Mark was about to get up and run out of the library with his tail between his legs when he spotted Gary walking in via a side entrance. With beating heart, Mark waved at him as casually as he could.  

Gary didn’t wave back.

‘Hiya,’ Gary said flatly when he reluctantly joined Mark at the table he’d chosen. The table was next to a window overlooking the courtyard where Mark always met up with his mates. Mark was surprised not to see Rob standing there with a pair of binoculars.

They were surrounded by old, tall bookcases filled with dusty books about the Goblin Rebellions. Mark had once spent an entire evening there, working on the tongue-in-cheek essay that Gary said he loved so much. A lamp was flickering overhead. The table creaked. Every now and then the librarian would leave her little desk and make sure that the students were hard at work by staring at them through her intimidating-looking spectacles.

Gary placed the books that he’d been carrying on the table and sat down. Mark had no idea what to say to him other than, ‘It’s nice and quiet in the library, innit?’ 

Gary replied with, ‘Suppose so, yeah’, and they quietly started reading their own Transfigurations textbooks on page 134 with no real clue as to what to do. Anyone walking past the boys would have thought they were just two classmates working on their homework together, but a storm was raging inside of Mark’s body. He wanted nothing more than to talk to Gary, to plead to him, to ask for forgiveness, but judging by the way the Slytherin demonstratively turned the pages of his book, Gary wanted nothing to do with him.

It was extremely uncomfortable.

It was only until Gary grabbed his quill and scribbled something on a piece of parchment that Mark noticed his knuckles were bruised. ‘What happened to your hand?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ said Gary a bit too quickly, and he placed his hand on his lap underneath the table.

Mark raised his eyebrows at this but swiftly went back to pretending to read his book when Gary looked at him crossly. They continued “reading” for the next twenty minutes or so, with Mark occasionally making notes so it looked like he wasn’t actually dying inside.

The clock struck 7:30, and Mark decided he’d had enough.

They couldn’t just sit there and pretend nothing had happened!

Mark closed his textbook with a loud _thumph_. ‘Look, are we gonna talk to each other or not?’ said Mark, waving a hand at their books on the table. His cheeks were burning.

Gary stubbornly stared at his book. There were about a million and one things that he wanted to say to Mark. ‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ he said instead.

Mark’s nails were biting the insides of his hands. ‘You’ll fail your project,’ he pointed out.

‘So will you, which is good enough for me,’ mumbled Gary. Another lie.  

Mark scoffed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘That’s _really_ mature of you, Barlow. I should’ve known you were no more than a selfish Slytherin _prick_ ,’ he blurted out. A student sitting at a table at the opposite end of the room shushed him, and Mark flushed an even deeper red. Mark didn’t usually lose his temper like this. Jason would probably tell him off for it, and lend him his copy of _That’s Not Very Charming: Anger Management, and How to Calm Yourself Down in Six Easy Spells._

Gary closed his book loudly, causing Mark to jump. ‘ _I’m_ selfish? You tried to fucking poison someone! Christ . . . !’ Having had more than enough of this, Gary resolutely put down his quill and angrily got up. The chair he was sitting on fell backwards with a loud _bang_ , and he awkwardly put it back up again. He faced the window and stood there staring into nothingness until he felt like he could think clearly again.

 _Why couldn’t Mark see what this really was about? It wasn’t just about Charlie, it was . . ._ him _. Mark. Mark being in every book he read and every song he listened to, and having been there ever since he first laid eyes on him. And it should’ve made it go away, his actions with the Amortentia and the tea cups . . . But it didn’t. It only made it worse._

Feeling more and guiltier by the second, Mark thought it best not to say anything and mouthed an apologetic “sorry” when the librarian showed her unpleasant little face. The librarian left again, and Mark stared at his notes. He’d scribbled the word “fuck” a hundred times over, and drawn himself getting hit by lightning.

Mark had tried to poison someone.

What else could he have expected?

‘D’you know what really bothers me, Marko?’ said Gary slowly. He was still looking out of the window, and Mark felt an indescribable dread pressing onto his chest that was telling him he wasn’t going to like what Gary had to say to him. ‘It’s that I really fancied you. There you go, I fancied you.’

‘Did from the moment I heard you play the guitar in Muggle Music. I thought, “That Mark Owen guy, he’s something else.” And _God_ , Mark, I loved your jokes in History of Magic, and your smile, and the stupid shit your mates go up to while I wasn’t looking . . . And I was going to ask you out, Mark, mate, I was — but then you go and fuck it all up.’

_Oh no._

‘I don’t know how you were expecting me to be okay with that. Next thing I know, and I’ll be in the hospital too, diagnosed with God knows what!’ He sighed deeply. His hands were shaking. ‘And I’m just finding it so hard to wrap me head around it at the moment, cos the thing is, Marko, I actually do st—’

But Mark had already left the library, ran up the stairs, and locked himself inside a toilet.

***

There was a frantic knocking on the door.

‘Markie, Markie, you need to get out of there!’

‘No.’

‘Rob’s right, mate, you can’t spend the rest of your life hiding away from your responsibilities. One day you’ll have to face the consequences of what you did, and it might as well be now, to be brutally honest with ya. Don’t let this be the defining moment of your entire school career.’

Jason went “ow”!

‘Jesus, Jay, you sound like one of those Agony Aunt things that me sis used to read! Let the _professional_ deal with this.’ Robbie cracked his fingers and knocked on the door again. ‘Markie, I’ve got tickets to see England versus Wales! What’d you think, eh? Quidditch during the next Hogsmeade weekend, you and me?’

‘I don’t like Quidditch.’

‘I’ve . . . made chicken curry? Your favourite?’

‘I’ve already eaten.’ A pause. ‘And you’re a shit cook.’

‘But you said—’

Jason cleared his throat. ‘Now, Rob, what you need to do in these sorts of situations is not bribe the sufferer with this or that, all right,’ (Mark scoffed at the word “sufferer”) ‘but allow them to speak their minds. This will be much more effective, I promise ya. Mark, would you mind telling us what happened?’

‘I’m pooping. Go away.’

‘See? I told ya he didn’t wanna talk about it.’

A door squeaked open, and a third party arrived. Howard, judging by the smell of aftershave. ‘Tell Mark that if he doesn’t get out of that toilet soon he won’t be able to sit down for a week,’ he threatened.  

Mark sighed. ‘ _Fine_. God.’

There was the sound of a door unlocking. The door opened inwards, and out came Mark, looking like he’d been crying for the past three months. Robbie immediately went over to hug him, and Mark curled into his embrace. 

Howard smugly patted Jason’s shoulder. ‘That wasn’t so ‘ard, was it, Jay?’

When Mark finally finished telling the boys what had happened at the library, they all, predictably, responded in completely different ways. This was very confusing.  

‘You’re better off without ‘im, Mark,’ said Howard before handing Mark a mug of hot chocolate. ‘Just hook up with a better-looking guy and do the project on your own.’

‘See, Markie, I told ya he liked boys! Didn’t I tell ya?’ was Robbie’s response.

But Jason took the academic approach: ‘Don’t listen to Howard, Mark; apologize to Gary the next time you see him and continue working with him so you don’t fall behind on your school work. When Professor Persistence says she won’t grade your essays if you hand them in separately, she won’t do it!’

It was hard enough knowing that he’d blown his chances with Gary because of a failed Potions experiment, but now that Gary had confessed to once having liked Mark, everything felt even more and more like one of those nightmares you can’t wake up from.

Naturally Mark ignored the best advice (Jason’s), and decided to do what Howard told him to instead. (Apart from “hooking up with a better-looking guy”, that is. Mark wasn’t ready for that yet.)

For the next few days, Mark stopped going to Transfiguration altogether and put all his time and effort into working on the remainder of his subjects in the hopes of forgetting the Slytherin. He more or less succeeded at this in the mornings and afternoons, when he was too busy reading his Herbology books to think. But whenever the lights went out and he was alone in his bed, all the regret came washing back. He could still see the angry, disappointed look on Gary’s face every time he closed his eyes, and still heard Gary’s words ringing in his ears. He still imagined what it would be like to go out with Gary before dozing off.

Worse still, Mark was starting to have nightmares about Professor Persistence locking him up in her Transfigurations classroom every night.

Eventually, Mark gave in, and he told Robbie to ask Howard to ask Jason to ask the Slytherin girl that Jay fancied to tell Gary that Mark wanted to start meeting up with him again.

Gary said “yes” suspiciously fast.

***

Spring was generally not a pleasant time if you were a Year Seven student at Hogwarts. Every single lesson was dedicated to subjects that had been dealt with anywhere between the first day of term in Year One and the present day. Of course, this was little different from what the lads’ Muggle mates were going through at their schools, but that didn’t make it any less difficult.

Out of our five boys, Jason was the one who studied the hardest. This was often a total mystery to the others. Jason was a Head Boy, which meant that Jason had to be available 24/7 in case some other student got stuck in a toilet, accidentally used an Exploding Charm on someone, were stressed out about their exams, etcetera. It was a tough job, which should leave little to no time for revision and note making.

And yet he was one of the highest-achieving students in his year, i _f not the highest-achieving student in all of Ravenclaw._

Howard, who usually did not study for exams at all, had often wondered how Jason managed to study and still do his Head Boy duties at the same time. Sometimes he wondered if maybe Jason had some sort of time-travelling device that allowed him to spend a little extra time on his homework, but, of course, there was no such thing as time travel. Even in the wizarding world, time travel was a made-up concept. It just had to be.

Soon Howard came to the conclusion that Jay’s superfood shakes had something to do with it. As we have mentioned previously, Jason was a keen herbologist and loved growing his own spices and vegetables. He always put said ingredients in a blender (read: a cauldron with a fast-stirring wand) and waited and waited until he had a disgusting-looking drink that had bits in it. Jason absolutely loved these healthy drinks, and Howard had a feeling that perhaps these veggie concoctions were the reason why Jason was such an all-round awake and hard-working person.

But then Howard tried one of Jay’s shakes himself, and was very conveniently sick in the next best plant pot.

Robbie was just an entirely different story. He did try to do his homework, bless him, but sometimes he simply forgot all about it. Even in primary school he wasn’t the best of pupils, and things didn’t get much better once he got his hands on his second-hand Hogwarts textbooks. He was always the last person to get a charm right, and the last person to finish his potion. But at least he had Mark by his side to help him out, and that made up for everything.

***

The first few meetings, Mark and Gary hardly talked apart from the occasional “Could you pass me your quill? Thanks.”

They diligently worked and worked until the librarian told them to leave, and their essays were slowly beginning to take shape, even if they did do most of the work separately. When the boys had finally finished tinkering with a chapter on the all-important Switching Spell, Gary even asked Mark about his plans for the summer. It was only a small step back towards what once was, but a step nonetheless.

(For the record, Mark did not have any plans for the summer yet. Neither did Gary.)

Mark no longer felt butterflies when he saw Gary. Instead, he felt an aching pain in his stomach that sometimes morphed into relief when Gary talked to him briefly about this or that spell. Mark knew he’d blown his chances of ever getting together with Gary, but at least they were still more or less talking to each other.

Perhaps, one day, they could even become friends.

They never talked about Charlie, and Robbie stopped casually checking up on the boys after their third meeting.

One evening, Gary was rather late. Mark had not seen his project partner all day, and he was beginning to wonder whether something might’ve come up that was more important than their homework sessions. After all, Gary had one subject more on his to-do list than Mark did, and judging by Howard’s incessant moaning, the homework for Potions had become really rather difficult.

Then Gary finally showed up, and Mark’s heart sank.

He should’ve seen it coming.

Mark instantly knew what had happened. He’d seen it happen to mates of his in pubs, and nearly had it happen to himself. Wizards and witches, monsters and magic or not, people could still be absolutely ruthless when it came to others being different. Being queer. If Mark hadn’t had Rob to cheer him up or Jay to shower him with his grown-up advice, and Howard to throw insults at jerks whenever necessary, Mark would probably have ended up looking like Gary, too. 

‘Your face . . . !’ cried Mark. Gary had a massive cut on his forehead. His knuckles, again, were bruised. He seemed to have difficulty moving, and huffed and puffed like an old man when he slowly lowered himself onto a chair next to Mark.

They usually sat at opposite ends of the table.

Mark immediately closed his books. ‘What happened?’

‘We’re not discussing that,’ said Gary resolutely. Even talking seemed to pain him.

‘Yes, we are!’ said Mark, lowering his voice when a young student passed their table and looked at them suspiciously. ‘Why haven’t you gone to Madame Pomfrey?’

Gary looked at Mark as though weighing his words in his mind. He wasn’t planning to strain his relationship with Mark even further, but experience had already shown that keeping quiet about things only led to people being hurt. Himself, Charlie, Mark . . .

He didn’t want Mark to be in pain.

He wanted . . .

Gary put his hand to his forehead and started when he saw that his fingers were covered in blood.

He’d known for a long time that it would eventually happen. One day, someone at Hogwarts would discover his secret, and that somebody would probably not be as loving and understanding as his family had been. He’d dated a few boys and girls from Manchester over the years, but never people from Hogwarts. Never wizards or witches. Wizards and witches were inherently different, and all Gary wanted was to be normal.

And then Eric found out.

Eric it turned out, had been shadowing his every move. He’d seen Gary and Mark talk to each other in Potions class, and even followed them up to the attic after Divination.

Just because he _could_. Because he hated people who were different.

‘It was this guy, Eric,’ said Gary finally. He tried to sit a little straighter in an attempt to look like he’d not just been through hell, but doing so only hurt more. ‘He’s this fellow Slytherin. Thinks he’s _it_ , Eric does. Anyway, he found out about me being . . . about me — liking you, I guess, and he threatened to out me. Course I then said I was going to turn him into a horse if he did, and then he punched me. Repeatedly. I tried to punch him back, I really did, but . . . that didn’t really work out,’ said Gary finally, sounding disheartened. 

He touched his forehead again. He was bleeding quite badly now, and Mark was _aching_ for him.

Of course, Gary didn’t tell Mark the whole story. He didn’t tell Mark that he and Eric had initially gotten into a fight because Eric had said something about Mark.

Something offensive.

Something that _hurt_.

It was then, during that brief moment with Eric in the deserted Slytherin common room, that Gary realised that he hadn’t gotten over Mark at all. He’d tried, damn it: he’d tried everything, from ignoring Mark, to hating him, and wishing him gone. And for a long time, he _did_ want Mark gone. Why should Mark be allowed to stay at Hogwarts when Charlie was still in hospital?

But then Eric said he and Mark could never have gotten together anyway, and that did it.

He wanted to be with Mark.

Mark was bright smiles and exploding cauldrons and chaos and butterflies and amazing essays and a great taste in music, and Gary wanted nothing more. 

That moment when Mark touched his scarred arm up in the attic?

He’d been dreaming of that moment ever since, of Mark’s small hands touching his body until he longer ached. Of just him and Mark, staring into each other’s cups and crystal balls and coming up with piss-take predictions of the future until their stomachs ached from laughing too much. Of watching Mark writing another song about the Goblin Rebellions, and seeing him play the guitar like he so skillfully could.

It felt to Mark as though his heart was no longer beating. Everything was just too much and too little and everything that he had no idea how to cope with. ‘Oh, Gary. I’m so sorry.’

Someone had beat Gary up . . . because of him.

God, would this ever stop?

There was an awkward silence as Gary rubbed the blood off his fingers, lost deep in thought.

Mark was thinking hard of things to say to Gary that might make the pain go away, when he suddenly remembered something that Jay had once given him. As though charged by lightning, Mark disappeared underneath their table and retrieved his heavy shoulder bag. He overturned it, and all its contents came piling out onto the table. Mark searched through the mess when he finally found what he was looking for.

‘Magical Anti-Bleeding, Scarring and Itching Cream!’ cried Mark. He was holding up a bottle of green stuff. ‘Um, if you’re interested,’ Mark added less enthusiastically when Gary frowned at the suspicious-looking bottle. Given their recent history, Gary probably thought it was yet another love potion. (It wasn’t; Jay had made it in Herbology.)

Gary shook his head. ‘I don’t know how—’

Mark blushed. ‘I could apply it? If . . . you want? It’s just, you know, I don’t want you to bleed all over me notes,’ he added to cover up the fact that he was starting to get fucking nervous again.

‘Um. Okay, yeah,’ said Gary, nodding.

Mark sat back down. With beating heart, he opened the bottle and squirted an abundant amount of cream onto his hands. It smelled vaguely of roses.

Ignoring Gary’s flinch when Mark reached out for his bloodied face, Mark gently dabbed the cream onto the wound with his short fingers. The cream disappearing almost completely, Mark rubbed an equal amount of it on the bruise on Gary’s cheekbone. Gary’s eyes fluttered closed when Mark’s fingers brushed his cheek, and Mark had to fight the urge to kiss the pain away. Even with the now fading bruises on his face, Gary still looked beautiful.

_It was like being touched by a hundred pairs of hands at the same time._

_Like being electrified._

‘It hurts,’ whimpered Gary, eyes still closed, while Mark applied some more cream on his forehead. The wound had almost completely disappeared.

Gary’s heart couldn’t have beat faster.

He _so_ wished he could touch him.

‘I know,’ Mark replied apologetically, ‘the cream consists of—’

‘No,’ said Gary softly, and he opened his eyes again. He could still feel the tingle of Mark’s fingers on his skin, and there was a heat in his cheeks that had very little to do with his injuries.

Gary looked at Mark in a way that Mark had never seen before.

The unfamiliarity of it almost made Mark nervous again. 

‘I mean you,’ Gary clarified. He sounded sad. ‘ _This_. Liking . . . boys. Mark, why can’t it be easier?’ he almost whispered.

Back were the nerves. Ignoring Gary’s previous comments completely, Mark stammered to have finished his job. His hands shaking, he awkwardly put the cap back onto his bottle of Magical Anti-Bleeding, Scarring and Itching Cream and started shoving all his stuff back into his bag. He accidentally shoved his bag back onto the floor, and all his possessions came spilling out again. The librarian, who had just finished another round, shushed him and disappeared, and Mark felt like crying.

He proceeded to look at Gary, at his still-bruised knuckles and aching body, and all the guilt he had been feeling over the past few weeks came back.

‘God, Gary, I’m so sorry,’ he muttered. ‘This is all my fault — I shouldn’t have—’

A warmth spread through Mark’s body when Gary’s hand was suddenly on his knee, and every thought Mark had ever had was gone.

‘Hey. Don’t say that,’ Gary whispered, looking at his own hand as though a little bit surprised at his sudden act of bravery. He’d been wanting to touch Mark there for _so_ long. He’d touch Mark everywhere if only he had the chance, if only his brain stopped coming up with stupid reasons as to why he and Mark should not be together. If only there weren’t people like Eric who hated people like him. ‘None of this is your fault.’

Mark’s lower lip was wobbling. There were a million things that he wanted to say to Gary. Confessions. I-like-yous. Apologies. Things that he might regret. Things he might not.

But none of those things mattered anymore.

Mark felt like he might pass out when Gary started rubbing his thumb over his clad leg.

None of Mark’s worries and regrets no longer mattered when Gary told him, ‘I forgive you, Mark. You’re a complete idiot, you are, but _I don’t hate you_. I like you unbelievably much, and all I need is your time and your patience and I’ll show you. But please, _please_ don’t ever use magic on me ever again.’

Gary made a movement to remove his hand from Mark’s knee, but Mark swiftly put his hand over Gary’s.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

This is what he wanted. _This_.

‘You mean that?’ Mark said. There were tears in his eyes.

‘ _Every word_.’ Gary’s hand moved slowly up Mark’s leg. He wanted to try it out, just once, if only to see Mark’s reaction . . . he wanted to touch him and kiss him and _God_ , did he want to find out what Mark was like outside the boundaries of Hogwarts and magic. He wanted to get to know the real him, not the Mark who was rubbish at potion-making.

Mark gasped when Gary stopped his hand right before his crotch. No-one had ever touched him like that, let alone _in the fucking library_ , and Mark felt a different kind of guilt when he found himself wishing that Gary would touch him a little bit higher.

‘You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,’ gasped Mark. His heart was inside his throat.

_Gary still liked him. Gary still liked him. Gary still liked him. Gary still liked him._

Gary swallowed. ‘Will you give me a little bit more time to get me head around everything?’ He gave Mark’s leg a little squeeze and bit his lip when Mark’s cheeks turned an even darker shade of red.

‘Yes, Gary. Yes, I promise,’ said Mark, which earned him the best smile Gary had ever given him.

***

Mark had never been a relationship. He’d had his first kiss, and once even cuddled Mollie from primary school in a supplies cupboard, but he had never been touched like _that_. Until today, he’d never even imagined what it was like to have someone touch him so intimately, so _secretly_ underneath a table while anyone could walk into them at any moment. He wanted more and he needed it now, and fucking hell, did he need a wank.

So once the boys had said a nervous goodbye to each other at the library exit half an hour later (they didn’t get any work done), Mark immediately went to the Hufflepuff common room and had a long, hot shower. The ghost of Gary's touch still on his thigh, he covered his body in soap and rubbed himself up and down intimately while the water washed away his filthy thoughts. Twisting his wrist just so that it felt like someone else was touching him, a familiar feeling was soon tingling somewhere south of his belly button. Just one more str—

There was a knock on the shower door, and Mark nearly had a heart attack. 

‘Jesus . . . !’ said he, sending one of his bottles of shampoo toppling over and crashing to the floor with a loud _thud_.

‘Markie, Markie!’ It was Rob. He was sounding anxious. ‘It's an emergency, Markie!’

Mark brushed the wet hair out of his eyes and stared at his hard-on. Typical. ‘What is it?’ he croaked as casually as he could, trying hard not to sound like he'd just been caught in the middle of masturbating. 

‘So I was in Charms tuition with Jase,’ Robbie said softly, forcing Mark to turn the shower down a little so he could hear him, ‘and we were going through spells from previous exams, right, when I accidentally turned me hair pink!’

Mark rolled his eyes. When he remembered that Robbie couldn't see him, he suggested, ‘Can’t you just go to Madame Pomfrey?’

A silence. ‘I'm not talking about _hair_ hair.’

‘God,’ huffed Mark, more to himself than to Robbie. Only Rob would be so stupid. ‘Look, I'd love to help, Rob, mate, but . . . I can't,’ he confessed guiltily, covering his cock with his hands, as though that might make the problem magically disappear.

He was going to hell for this, he just knew it. 

‘Why not?’

Mark cringed. ‘I'm . . . indisposed.’

Another silence. ‘Were you having a wank before I came knocking?’

‘No,’ Mark lied unconvincingly. Soap ran slowly down his abdomen. A cold drop of water from the ceiling hit the small of his back.

‘So your study date went well, then?’ Robbie sounded chuffed. 

‘It wasn't a date,’ Mark pointed out. He bit his lip as the memory of Gary's hand creeping up his thigh came back to him. Mark just knew that if they had been alone Gary may not have stopped squeezing his leg inches before his crotch. ‘And, um, yeah, it did,’ he admitted, rather smugly.

‘Do you and your hand need a moment on their own?’

Mark cringed. ‘Rob . . .’

But Robbie had already started towards the door. ‘I'll be downstairs if you need me.’

‘Thanks, mate.’

When Mark had finished the job and joined Robbie in the common room, Robbie's issue had blissfully solved itself. Feeling much less anxious, Robbie asked Mark to tell him about his evening with Gary. Mark did so, describing in detail how Gary had confessed wanting to give him another shot, and that Gary just needed time to sort himself out. Mark conveniently left out the part about Gary touching him. 

‘I bet he's going to ask you out on a date soon,’ Robbie mused. They were sitting on a comfortable sofa near the fireplace. Robbie had made them tea, but Mark refused and stubbornly stuck to water.

Mark scrunched up his nose a little, the way he always did when he disagreed with something. ‘Nah, he'd never do that.’

But sure enough, the next week a very nervous-looking Gary promised Mark that he'd ask him out on a date if they passed their Transfigurations project together. They did so with flying colours, and a date was set for the next Hogsmeade weekend . . .  


	4. It's Magic

Mark was quite fond of the way Gary had asked him out. A bright spring morning, the boys were in Divination for yet another dull lecture on Tessomancy when a handful of tiny paper planes started flying circles around Mark's head. The paper planes soon flew away into formation and landed in a V-shape on the table. The paper planes opened up, revealing a word on the inside of each one. It read “Mark weekend please this with me Hogsmeade will go out you”.

Ignoring the fact that the paper planes had landed in the incorrect order (it was of course supposed to read “Mark, will you please go out with me this Hogsmeade weekend?”), Mark went “aw!” and nodded enthusiastically at a very red-looking Gary at the other side of the room. Gary _did_ then get sent to detention for distracting his classmates, but it was worth it.

They were meeting up at the castle entrance that Sunday, the final day of the Hogsmeade weekend. Dressed up in his best cardigan (it was quite hot, so he could leave his coat upstairs), Mark was the first to arrive. He had been feeling surprisingly calm at breakfast and throughout the rest of the morning and afternoon, but once he left the Hufflepuff dorms on his own at 3:15PM and went on his merry way to their meeting point, his legs were starting to feel more and more like jelly.

He’d never been on a date before. To Mark, dates were scary and unfamiliar, and everything he knew about them he’d learned from Jason and Howard. Naturally Jason and Howard had completely different opinions on what The Perfect Date should be like, so at the end of the day Mark didn’t really know what to expect. Would there be flowers? Candle-lit dinners?

. . . kisses?

Mark didn't think he could stand upright anymore when Gary finally showed up.

‘Hey,’ said Gary. He was panting slightly. Had he been running?

Gary had clearly had his hair cut, and was wearing brand new trousers. The bruises on his body had disappeared completely.  ‘Sorry I'm late; had to help Dave with his dissertation,’ he gave as an explanation.  

Gary made a move to kiss Mark on the cheek, but Mark panicked and ended up giving Gary an awkward sort of man hug.

Mark felt like his brain was malfunctioning.

‘Um. So. I've brought you something?’ said Gary when they let go of each other. They were both blushing, and a passing teacher looked at them fondly before heading up the stairs and disappearing into the castle.

Gary awkwardly fumbled in the pockets of his trousers and retrieved a small gift. It was wrapped up with what looked like leftover Christmas wrapping, but Mark couldn't help but smile at the gesture.

Gary handed Mark the gift with shaking hands. He nearly dropped it onto the stairs. ‘It's a gift.’

‘ _Is_ it?’ said Mark sarcastically but lovingly. He unwrapped it slowly, revealing a cassette with a hand-drawn picture of a famous singer that Gary liked on it. Mark fingered the cover, and the artist morphed into a different one.

‘It's a mixtape,’ Gary explained. A big bird landed on the grass overhead, and flew off again when Gary nervously scratched the back off his head.

‘I love it, thank you, Gary,’ said Mark softly. Looking at the back to read Gary's handwritten tracklist, Mark couldn't quite find the words to describe how much this meant to him. No-one had ever made a mixtape for him before, and they were all amazing songs as well! ‘I feel guilty for not getting you anything now.’

‘Oh, don’t be,’ said Gary nonchalantly, and yet he looked at the Hufflepuff in anticipation. Once more Mark felt as though this was _the_ sort of moment when a kiss ought to be shared, but Mark avoided it by smiling at Gary nervously and put the cassette into his pocket with trembling hands. He wasn't ready for kissing Gary yet! What if he made a fool of himself?

‘So, um, Hogsmeade?’ Mark quickly suggested, and he moved so that he was standing on the same step as Gary.

The sun reappeared from behind a white cloud, warming up the school grounds pleasantly.

Mark wished he could get away with wearing one of his Muggle clothes for once. He'd wear one of his black t-shirts that Rob always said made his arms stand out, or a comfy jumper with nothing else underneath. Or one of his football shirts, even though he’d probably get told off for it.

He suddenly remembered what Rob had once said, about what he thought Gary might wear when he’s not at school. Did they have the same style? Did they frequent the same shops?

Mark shivered in spite of the hot sun on his face — _would Gary’s clothes fit him?_

‘Yes, Hogsmeade,’ Gary reiterated slowly. He sounded distracted. ‘I was thinking maybe we could go to the Three Broomsticks?’ He paused, and said, ‘I think I need a Butterbeer to stop making me feel so nervous!’

Mark sighed in relief. Gary was feeling nervous too! ‘Yeah, same here,’ Mark said, a smile playing on his lips. ‘I suppose we’re still not drinking tea?’

‘No,’ laughed Gary, and off they went. ‘Not when _you’re_ around, mate.’

Mark rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah . . .’

This was another thing that Mark really liked about Gary (and had only recently discovered): Gary wasn’t a resentful person at all. Once enough time had elapsed, he could joke about bad things that had happened in the past. He could laugh at his own expense. He could talk about shitty memories, and somehow turn them into a punchline. 

And yet he never mentioned Eric, the guy who beat him up . . .

***

A long walk and a chat about their favourite records later, the boys were sitting at a small table in a quiet corner of the pub. A large group of students from different Houses were standing at the bar, talking animatedly about the purchases they'd made at Honeydukes, but Mark and Gary only had eyes and ears for each other. Gary had kindly ordered and paid for the crisps, Butterbeer, and vinegar dipping sauce.

‘I disagree, mate,’ said Gary before taking a sip of his beer, ‘ _clearly_ their peak was in the 1970s. That songwriting? Completely unparalleled. I cried when I heard their debut record, I did!’

‘They didn't become good until the 1980s!’

‘They _threw away all their musical integrity_ in the 1980s. Their first three records, that’s what it’s all about.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And did you hear? Apparently the lead singer was a wizard, as well! Went to Hogwarts like you and me, graduated in ‘67. Imagine that, eh?’

‘Can’t’ve been a very good wizard if he couldn’t write a hit song _until the 1980s_ , though,’ Mark argued.

Gary scoffed. ‘So you like music a lot, then?’ He dunked his crisp into the vinegar dip. ‘You've been getting very high grades for Muggle Music lately.’

 _Only because I wanted to impress you_ , Mark thought.

Mark nodded. ‘I do, yeah. When I was younger I was more into football, to be honest with ya, but music was me second hobby. Did some guitar-playing. Wrote some songs as well whenever I felt like it. Still do, occasionally. It’s nothing special, though.’ He drank a large gulp of beer and put the pint back down with distaste written all over his face. ‘But I never enchanted a bunch of keyboards like you.’

‘How _did_ you first find out?’

‘About magic, you mean?’

‘Hm.’

The sky had turned a soft orange.

More and more students were leaving.

Mark had no idea how long they’d been sitting here, just talking and laughing. One time Mark had dared making a joke about love potions and how shit he was at magic, and Gary laughed and laughed until the tears were streaming down his face. When the laughter had died down, Gary told Mark that he’d heard word that Charlie was recovering, and a weight was lifted off Mark’s shoulders.

‘Accidentally made me pet iguana talk,’ Mark explained. ‘One day it's just sitting on me bed doing nothing, next thing I know it's talking about the economy! I received me letter pretty quickly after that. Unfortunately the poor thing – the iguana I mean, Nirvana – froze to death in the garden about a month later. Apparently he was still going on about our current Prime Minister when he went. I still don’t know how I made him talk.’

‘That’s better than my keyboard story, that.’

A waitress offered them a refill of their Butterbeers, but the boys kindly declined.

‘It’s not as good as Jay’s story, though,’ said Mark. ‘Apparently—’

Suddenly, Gary was pointing at his own lips, and then at Mark’s. ‘There's a . . .’

Mark dabbed his mouth with his napkin. ‘Gone?’

‘Let me.’ Gary leaned forward and kissed Mark right next to his mouth — and then once more just for the hell of it.

Gary smelled of Butterbeer and aftershave and shampoo all at once, and it nearly made Mark fall off his chair.

When Gary returned into his original position, Mark was staring at him wide-eyed.

‘Sorry, I just had to do that,’ said Gary smugly. He would’ve loved to have kissed Mark properly, right there on his mouth, but he was still waiting for the right moment. The right place. Not here, still surrounded by fellow students.

But Mark's mind had gone into overdrive: ‘I've just remembered that we have a Charms exam tomorrow morning.’

Gary opened his mouth, then closed it again. How Mark had somehow managed to link quick kisses with Charms revision was beyond him, but that didn’t stop him from suddenly feeling very, very anxious indeed.

‘Shit, Mark, you're right,’ Gary mumbled after a long time. ‘I’m — fuck, I haven’t even read the book. Have _you_?’

Mark shook his head. He could still feel the tingle of Gary's mouth on his skin.

So soft.

‘We could go back to the Slytherin common room and do a bit of revision?’ Gary slowly suggested. He hadn’t done any revision for Charms. At all. He’d been too busy thinking about what he wanted to do on his date with Mark!

Mark accidentally dropped one or two crisps into their vinegar dipping sauce. ‘The Slytherin . . .’

‘Our common room’s shit,’ Gary explained quickly, ‘ _and_ bloody cold. Everyone always studies on their beds or in the hallways even though we're not supposed to. Besides, it's almost exams week so Prefects and Head Boys tend to be a bit more lenient when you're out of bed after dark,’ he added as though he’d been practising that excuse in his head all day. ‘No-one’s gonna be there tonight.’

Mark's heart skipped a beat when Gary said “after dark”, and he had a feeling that he wasn't going to return to Rob in the Hufflepuff common room anytime soon. 

A lot of questions that Mark hadn't really considered before came popping up into his thoughts one by one: would Gary kiss him again tonight? Had Gary brought boys or girls to his room before? Was Gary . . . experienced?

The way Gary looked at Mark next told him that he probably was, and suddenly Mark didn’t want to be in the pub anymore.

‘Okay,’ said Mark, nodding. ‘Charms revision.’

***

Mark and Gary arrived at the Slytherin common room forty minutes later. It had already gone dark. As Gary had predicted, it was completely empty, and very cold indeed. Mark sat awkwardly on a sofa in front of the fireplace as he got his bearings, and tried not to feel intimidated by the large image of a snake on the wall opposite him.

The Slytherin common room was not at all like the Hufflepuff one.

‘Won't be a minute,’ said Gary before squeezing Mark's knee and heading up to his room to get his things.

Gary returned only three minutes later with five dictionary-sized textbooks (and a slightly fuller trouser pocket . . . ) but to Mark it had felt like an hour; if someone caught _him_ , a Hufflepuff, lounging in the Slytherin dungeon like he _lived_ there, he could potentially get into a lot of trouble. Mark wasn’t sure whether there were rules in place that said that students from different houses couldn’t visit each other’s dormitories . . . Worse still, it could cost Hufflepuff a lot of points, and lose them the House Cup!

‘God, these books are so heavy,’ Gary panted. Colourful post-its that Mark knew Gary couldn’t have gotten at Diagon Alley were peeking out from the top. The books were in a much better state than Mark’s; Mark always left _his_ lying on the floor in the Hufflepuff basement. One time he’d even poured Shrinking Solution all over his Potions book, which then miraculously turned the book into a twig. He was having a hard time studying for his Potions exam after that, which probably explains all the problems he has faced in this story. 

Gary seated himself comfortably next to Mark on the green leather sofa and placed the books on the armrest to his left. One of the bigger books appeared to be dangling precariously over the edge.

Gary opened the smallest book of the lot – aptly named _The Tiny Book of Spells_ by Miranda Goshawk – and skimmed through it until he found the chapter he was looking for. He tapped a highlighted section with his finger.

‘Oh, ’ere we go,’ Gary sighed, ‘The Water-Making spell.’

Mark went _oof_. He scooted a little closer to Gary so that he could have a better look at the illustration of the hand movement that he spell required. Mark tried it out without his wand, and it looked to Gary like he was conducting an orchestra.

The Hufflepuff exhaled deeply. ‘I can never get that one right.’

Gary skimmed through the book. It was only the sixth time that day that Mark noticed how long and slender Gary’s fingers were. No wonder he could play a keyboard!

‘Neither can I. There’s only about twenty fucking pages dedicated to it, as well,’ Gary groaned. ‘I bet the professor will want us to memorise when the charm was first used and everything. I don’t give a fuck about that.’

Mark looked at the old grandfather clock that stood in a corner of the room. Its hands were shaped like a snake, and Mark shivered. ‘Twelve hours left,’ he said, more to himself than to Gary. There was no way they were going to cram in three hundred pages of Charms revision in so few hours. He really should have started his revision much sooner.

Still, Gary had kissed him! Sort of.

‘Better get cracking, then,’ Gary said, sounding more confident than Mark felt. He started reading the chapter aloud while Mark scribbled notes on a roll of parchment that he had found lying on a tea table. The book being written in considerably difficult English, Gary stumbled at words such as “conjuration” and “Aguamenti” (Mark would constantly crack up at this, which made Gary slap the back of his hand against Mark’s arm in jest) but after half a page Gary found his rhythm.

Gary ended up reading for thirty minutes until Mark went “ow”.

Gary put down the book and rubbed his eyes. The dungeon was still deserted. ‘You all right, mate?’

Mark rubbed his wrist with his left hand. He had managed to fill two scrolls of parchment with his illegible handwriting. His hand was covered in ink. ‘Me hand’s about to fall off.’

‘We could take a break, mate,’ Gary suggested. ‘We’re not gonna make it through the entire book anyway, at _this_ rate. Besides, me classmates could come in at any minute now and—’

But Mark insisted. They were on a roll now, and he wasn’t going to let time and fatigue get in the way of a good grade. If his mate Howard, who’d done fuck all for school since he was fourteen, could get an O for most of his exams, so could Mark. ‘C’mere.’ He grabbed the book and opened it where Gary had left a leather bookmark. ‘I read, you write.’

Suddenly feeling rather courageous (and tired, let’s be honest), Mark lay on his back and rested his head on Gary’s lap. It felt very soft and warm. He was pretty sure he could hear Gary gasp then, but he decided not to say anything about it; he was too much of a nervous wreck himself anyway to be able to utter anything that did not come straight out of a textbook.

‘I can’t make notes like that, Marko,’ Gary squeaked. He took a deep, nervous breath, and Mark could feel it against his head.

‘Shush,’ said Mark, trying his hardest to look like he rested his head on other boys’ laps all the time. ‘Just listen.’

Mark read him the section on the origins of the _Aguamenti_ spell. (Mark decided to pronounce the name of the spell in a sort of exaggerated Italian accent. It made Gary laugh every time, which was quite pleasant.) The section was dull and wordy, and that combined with the sudden influx of nerves and butterflies and other feelings that Mark knew didn’t belong in the Slytherin dungeon, was making it very hard to get through a certain paragraph.

Gary was just _so_ close — so very close that Mark could feel his every movement.

He wished Gary would touch him. Not “touching” in the way that Gary had in the library, with his hand on Mark’s thigh, but _properly_. Intimately. Here, on the sofa, while the green light of the sinister-looking lamps illuminated them both. Here, where Mark was not even supposed to be.

Mark had just read the same sentence twice. The clock chimed one, and Mark’s heart dropped. Gary was right; they’d never get through the revision on time.

Then he felt Gary’s fingers caressing his neck with his fingertips, and Mark could swear he melted into the sofa along with his every thought. _Oh fuck._ Holding on to the textbook for dear life in case he started shaking, Mark continued reading like his internal organs hadn’t just done a cartwheel.

 _His internal organs had just done a cartwheel_. He’d die here, in the Slytherin common room, a very happy man.

‘Jesus, Mark, you’re so beautiful,’ Gary told his mate in a voice that did not belong to him after Mark had stammered through a long paragraph on the dangers of the _Aguamenti_ spell. His fingers moved to Mark’s left ear, tickling him. Mark let out an involuntary purr and closed his eyes as Gary massaged the skin under his earlobe.

Gary’s touch may have been light, but it sent a tingle through every nerve in Mark’s body, charging him.

Another brush of Gary’s fingers on his skin, and Mark writhed against Gary’s lap.

He’d been waiting for this _so_ long.

Mark let his hands drop to his belly. The textbook fell on the floor with a soft _thud_. He could feel Gary rubbing his hair now, and he opened his eyes to see Gary looking at him like he was the only person left in the world.

Like _they_ were the only ones left in the world.

Mark instinctively moved his hand to the back of Gary’s neck —

Someone kicked the door of the dungeon open. Violently. Startled, Mark fell off the sofa like a sack of potatoes. A very flustered looking Gary jumped up as though on cue and urged Mark to roll under the sofa and hide. Mark did so, and he watched with a beating heart how Gary’s feet walked away from him.

_He had nearly kissed Gary!_

Footsteps.

‘Weren’t you with someone jus’ now?’ demanded the voice the footsteps belonged to. Male. Angry. Potentially drunk. He didn’t sound very nice.

Mark wondered if this was the guy that Gary said had threatened to out him.

‘No,’ Gary lied. He sounded anxious, which Mark found very worrying; Gary didn’t _do_ anxious. Gary was hard work and patience and calm all wrapped up in a neat little package that was too good for Hogwarts. In all his months of fancying Gary, Mark had never seen him worried about something, not even when his cauldron exploded in Potions or when Charlie was in hospital. Like frowning didn’t suit Mark, anxiety didn’t suit Gary.

This guy must terrify him.

‘So who was you jus’ talking to?’ said the angry Slytherin, who Mark imagined looked a little bit like a troll. ‘Lemme guess, your stupid, miniature _boyfriend_.’

_This was the guy who had threatened to out Gary._

_It’s the guy who had beat him up._

Mark held his breath. If this guy found out that Mark was here with them, Gary would never hear the end of it.

He might beat Gary up again.

_Oh, God._

A pause. ‘Myself. Yeah, I was talking to myself, I was,’ Gary repeated, sounding relatively convinced that this rubbish excuse would put the Slytherin off their scent.

Mark’s heart was beating fast. _Please work_.

Gary’s rude conversational partner was quiet for a while. A second later, he cracked up. ‘ _Ha_! Figures that yer the type what’s so lonely that you start talkin’ to yerself. Twat.’ Mark could hear the other Slytherin start towards the spiral staircase. Mark was still holding his breath. ‘Good luck failin’ that test of yers, by the way. Also, you looked much better with that pretty bruise on yer face. Just sayin’.’

‘T-thanks,’ Gary stammered.

Mark waited until he was certain that the prick had left, and slowly crawled from underneath the sofa. When Mark had gotten up from the floor and finally brushed the dust off his trousers, Gary was looking incredibly pale. Mark instinctively grabbed his hand like they’d held each other like that a million times before, and Gary let out the long breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He looked like he was fighting back tears.

‘Hey,’ Mark whispered, rubbing his thumb over the back of Gary’s hand, ‘you okay?’

Gary turned his face so he could casually wipe a tear from his eye. Mark pretended not to notice. ‘He’s a prick, Eric is. Thinks he’s better than me cos I’m not into girls and Quidditch. He once put a dancing feet spell on me bed cos he thought I fancied his best mate.’

‘He the guy who nearly outed you? And who . . . you know?’

Gary nodded quickly and minutely. He was squeezing Mark’s hand hard. _Really_ hard. Eric clearly terrified Gary, but Mark decided not to say anything about it.

Mark wasn’t one to hold a grudge or hurt others with his magic (not intentionally, anyway!), but he decided there and then that Eric would get what he deserved sooner rather than later, with or without magic. What Eric had done to Gary all those weeks ago was awful and cruel, and no one was allowed to hurt Gary like that. Ever.

But Mark wasn’t going to let him ruin their evening.

‘Anyway, you’re not into _Quidditch_?’ Mark said in an exaggerated manner. ‘You imposter!’

Gary shook his head. ‘Nah, I’m more of a Liverpool fan, me,’ he said, falling in line with Mark’s attempt at casual conversation after the fright he’d had. ‘What about you? You’re more into football, right?’

They were still holding hands.

‘Yeah, I’m more into football,’ Mark reiterated. He was happy to see the colour return to Gary’s cheeks. ‘I can see why others might like Quidditch, you know . . . but it doesn’t quite beat the thrill of penalty shootouts, does it?’

‘The _dread_ of it, more like!’ cried Gary. He glanced at the books that were now in a mess on the floor. Mark’s parchment notes looked less legible than they did before. He cleared his throat. ‘So where were we?’

Mark wanted to say “You mean before you started touching me and nearly made me kiss you?” but it came out instead as ‘Page 243. _Aguameeenti_.’

‘D’you know what, I don’t feel like reading anymore,’ Gary decided. He let go of Mark’s hand, leaving Mark’s palm unfamiliarly cold, and started picking up the books from the floor with a stupid grin on his face. Mark decided there and then that he _really_ liked it when Gary grinned. It was mischievous and cute and sexy all at the same time. ‘How ‘bout we try that spell out, eh?’

Mark helped Gary put all their revision materials in a neat pile on the sofa. When Mark decided to put his thick parchment rolls on top of the books, the pile toppled over. Again.

‘We could try dousing the fire in the fireplace,’ Mark said when Gary accidentally stepped on one of the notes he’d been working so hard on. It sounded more like an unsure question than a suggestion; Mark wasn’t entirely sure what else the Water-Making spell could be used for.

Apart from . . . _stuff_.

Bad stuff.

Gary regarded Mark closely as he pointlessly tried to iron out the creases in his notes. There was a massive ink smudge where Mark had tried drawing a timeline with all the various charms they had to memorize jotted down in random places.

Gary’s eyes flickered to Mark’s lips, and Mark had an inkling that he was thinking the same thing. ‘Fireplace. OK, yeah, could do.’ He shook his head as though trying to rid it of a certain thought. ‘You’ve got your wand?’

‘D’oh.’ Without thinking Mark lifted up his cardigan – revealing his naked belly – and magically retrieved his wand from his trousers like he’d just conjured up a bunny from a hat like a Muggle.

Gary’s cheeks had turned the colour of the Gryffindor common room. ‘You put your wand inside your . . . trousers?’

‘Well, if put it in me pocket it’ll only fall out, won’t it?’ Mark replied, pulling his cardigan back down. His cheeks flushed scarlet at the knowledge that he had definitely seen Gary take a quick look at his happy trail. ‘C’mon, recite the section about the incantation. Off the top of your head,’ he added when a very nervous-looking Gary made a movement to open his copy of _The Tiny Book of Spells._

Gary was still thinking about Mark’s wand. ‘What if you accidentally cast a spell?’

‘I’ll let you know if I use the _Engorgio_ charm on meself by accident,’ Mark said. He started towards the large, black fireplace in the middle of the room. The top was covered with skulls of various magical and non-magical animals. Some of the skulls seemed to be glowing in the half-dark. ‘C’mon, Gaz, tell me what I’ve gotta do.’

Gary recited the information that he and Mark had been studying all night long from the top of his head. It wasn’t perfect – he left out the bit about the Water-Making spell being potentially lethal when tried indoors – but it was good enough for Mark, who was nodding confidently: ‘OK, so do I move my hand like this . . .?’ He waved his wand in the air. ‘Or like this?’ He tried a similar but slower movement.

‘That one, definitely,’ said Gary, who was watching carefully.

Mark faced the fireplace, but not before making sure that the common room was completely empty. ‘Awright, ‘ere goes nothing. _Aguamenti_ ,’ he said under his breath while jerking his wand at the fireplace dramatically. Nothing. He pointed again. ‘ _Aguamenti_!’ Still nothing. He looked at Gary for help. ‘‘s not working.’

‘Course it’s not bloody working, mate, you’re pointing your wand all wrong,’ Gary pointed out. His cheeks were burning. ‘Here, let me.’

Mark inhaled sharply when Gary approached him from behind and placed his large hands on his sides. Gary’s breath felt tingly on his neck. His body was radiating heat.  It was the closest they had been thus far, and Mark’s thoughts were being blocked out by a chorus of _Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God._

‘You need to hold your wand like this,’ Gary whispered into Mark’s ear. He covered Mark’s hand with his own, steadying Mark’s loose grip. ‘Now, say the enchantment, c’mon,’ Gary instructed him. He sounded husky. Turned on. His left hand was still firmly placed on Mark’s side (rather superfluously, Mark thought), and Mark had to fight the urge to turn around and kiss him.

In that brief moment, Mark wanted nothing more than being touched by Gary until he burned up.

‘ _Au_ — _Aguamenti_! Mark finally managed, and a thin spray of water spurted out of his wand and landed on the fire. It hadn’t doused it, far from it, but it was good enough for Mark. He’d done it!

Gary patted his thigh. ‘Well done, mate. Well done.’ He then gently wrapped his strong arms around Mark’s belly and pulled him closer so that Mark’s arse was lightly rubbing against him. He breathed in the scent of Mark’s hair, and Mark eased into the embrace. It’s the safest, most comfortable Mark had ever felt. ‘I really like you, Mark. Even though you’re a shit potion-maker.’

It’s as though their bodies were made for each other.

Mark moaned as Gary kissed his neck. ‘I like you too.’ Another kiss. Mark mustered up all his courage to rub his arse against Gary’s thigh, which made Gary release a wobbly breath. ‘But we still have 63 pages of Charms revision to get through, you know.’

Gary blew into Mark’s ear. It made Mark shiver. ‘Christ, you’re sounding like that Ravenclaw you always hang out with. The one with the jawline? I saw him take a shower once, I think,’ Gary added unconvincingly. He sounded like he was making everything up on the spot just so he could tease Mark a little bit. ‘Very good body, that.’

Mark turned around so that he was facing Gary. Gary’s arms slid to the small of Mark’s back, pulling him closer still. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been looking at Jay!’ Mark huffed, sounding more surprised than annoyed. He rested his own hands on Gary’s chest, feeling Gary’s heart _thump thump thump thump_ in time with his own. Gary was more nervous than he looked.

_How had they gotten this far?_

Gary’s hands crept further down Mark’s body. ‘I’m jus’ saying’, said Gary cheekily. ‘He’s a very attractive guy, your mate is.’

When Mark realized that Gary was taking the mickey, he slapped Gary’s arm. ‘You cheeky bastard! Is this what I get for fancying a Slytherin?’

A smile played on Gary’s lips. ‘Suppose so, yeah.’

Ignoring Gary’s goofy smile, Mark continued, ‘Anyway, you _do_ realise I’m still holding me wand, don’t ya, Barlow? I could enchant you for being such a tease, you know.’ He looked Gary up and down. ‘I could _easily_ turn you into jelly. Or an ugly toad.’

Mark paused to think. Gary squeezed his bum, and an influx of nerves put his mind and his mouth into overdrive. ‘No, hang on, not an ugly toad, you’re too attractive to be turned into a toad, aren’t you? A – A horse. A caterpillar! — Maybe not; you’d get lost. Or I could e—’

Mark stopped breathing when Gary finally leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.


	5. Upon A Hillside

Howard, Jason and Robbie were all standing outside the classroom talking to one another when Mark finally stumbled out. The tired, disoriented look on Mark’s face didn’t stop his mates from immediately pelting him with one question after another: ‘What was it like?’ ‘Were you nervous?’ ‘Is it hard?’, etcetera. When Mark was starting to look rather overwhelmed by all this sudden attention, Jason cut his mates off and motioned Mark to sit on the wooden bench that was conveniently placed next to classroom 2E for exam-takers. ‘C’mon, lads, give him some space.’

Mark sat down and wiped the sweat off his forehead. It had been a very intense exam, made only more difficult by Mark’s lack of sleep the previous night. He could sparsely even remember going to bed at all.

When Mark had finally regained his breath and gathered his thoughts, he told his mates all about it. Upon entering the exam classroom, Professor Flitwick immediately asked Mark to sit down and turn tea into liquid gold. Without telling him how! It wasn’t something that they had practiced in class, but Mark did at least manage to vaguely change the colour of the substance. Mark even thought that the tea looked shinier than it had before he came in, and Professor Flitwick refrained from tasting it. (Then again, that may have had something to do with The Amortentia Incident.)

The final part of the exam _was_ , as the boys had all feared, the Water-Making spell. Cleverly leaving out the fact that Mark had more or less been studying the charm all night long (albeit with some . . . distractions), he recollected Professor Flitwick telling him to fill his empty tea kettle with boiling water.

‘Boiling water?” Robbie interrupted. He was leaning against the classroom door quasi-casually.  A nervous-looking Ravenclaw girl with pigtails had just gone in, and Rob thought he could hear her scream. ‘You’re ‘aving a laugh! Every time I try that spell out me wand catches fire!’

‘I have no idea how you managed to pass your O.W.L.s, to be honest with you, mate,’ Jason said lightly.

Robbie stuck his tongue out at him.

‘So, did you do it?’ Howard asked Mark earnestly.

Howard was up next, right after the Ravenclaw girl. He had spent an incredible amount of two hours (!) studying for the exam, considerably less than the other boys, and was thinking about bottling it. He’d always had a natural flair for Charms, even if his minimal theoretical knowledge meant that he sometimes couldn’t tell two spells apart, but this was something else. It’s as though he had only this morning realised the importance of their exams!

Mark blushed. ‘I accidentally made the kettle explode . . .’

Indeed, the spell reminded Mark so much of his night with Gary that he lost focus and accidentally used an exploding charm on the kettle instead. Professor Flitwick proceeded to angrily scribble something in his notebook and showed Mark the door. Mark wasn’t sure he’d still pass the exam after that, especially not with his penchant for exploding cauldrons.

Robbie rubbed Mark’s shoulder consolingly. ‘Well, it could be worse, when—’ His eyes lit up, the way they always did when he saw something that was bound to cause trouble. ‘Eh, Markie, Markie, it’s _Gaz_.’

His heart rate increasing at the mere mention of his crush, Mark looked up. (Is someone still a crush when you’ve had sex with them? _God, he’s had sex with him. Stay calm, Mark. You’re a cool lad, you can do this.)_

Gary waved at him from across the long, arching hallway. Rays of light from the windows fell onto his ash blonde hair. He was having a chat with one of his Slytherin mates, but he seemed more interested in shooting quick, almost unnoticeable glances at Mark.

Their awkward study sessions at the library seemed so long ago now.

Gary was still wearing his cardigan from the previous day. Mark knew this because _he_ hadn’t taken his dirty Hufflepuff cardigan off either. It still smelled of Gary, and every time he saw his black and yellow cardigan reflected in a window or mirror he remembered where it had been that night: in a mess on the floor. He’d even slept in it.   

Howard, for a time forgetting that he was supposed to get ready for his exam, was regarding Mark carefully. He pursed his lips, squinted, and said, quite bluntly, ‘You’ve shagged ‘im, haven’t you?’ Good old Howard. ‘You were still a virgin as well, weren’t you? I bet you was shitting yourself.’

Jason punched his arm. ‘ _Howard_!’

Mark turned red: half at the fact that Howard could somehow smell sex on him like some sort of vampire, half at the blind assumption that Mark was still a virgin at eighteen. (Mark _hadn’t_ had sex previously, but that was not the point. Gary had, so in Mark’s mind that made _him_ – Mark – half a virgin before he actually had sex. Sort of. This is how these things worked, right? Right.)

‘I – I have not!’ Mark stammered. ‘W-we worked on our Charms revision after our date, and then I went back to the Hufflepuff dorm to do some last-minute writing for me Xylomancy essay. And I’m not a virgin,’ he added, pouting. It was the only part of that statement that was _not_ entirely fabricated.

Robbie nodded slowly in remembrance. ‘That’s right, when I woke up this morning Markie had already finished his essay. I still have to start mine . . .’ he said as though he had only just realized it. ‘I still have to start me Xylomancy essay,’ he repeated softly, more to himself than to the others, and he stared into space until Mark touched his hand in a wordless _Don’t worry, I’ll help you out_.

Knowing more about sex than the rest of them combined, Howard didn’t look entirely convinced of Mark’s story, but thankfully the girl with the pigtails then stumbled out of the classroom. Her pigtails seemed to have shrunk considerably. ‘You’re up, Donald,’ she mumbled before she burst out crying and ran into the next corridor. Jason quietly slipped away from his mates and followed her.

Howard picked up his bag from the floor. His right hand was shaking. ‘Wish me luck.’

‘Good luck, Howard.’

‘Good luck, mate. Don’t make your ears vanish on accident like last year.’

Last year, in a mock Charms exam, the students were asked to use a Mending Charm on a broken chair. (‘Ah! I know this one, Sir! “The Mending Charm will repair broken objects with a flick of the wand. Accidents _do_ happen, so—”’ Jason recited the book word for word until Professor Flitwick told him in very few words to get on with it.) Jason, predictably, did extremely well, but Howard somehow managed to make his ears disappear. Robbie joked that the spell was ‘meant for objects, not faces’, and Howard got very angry at that.

Mark and Robbie watched Howard disappear into a smoke-filled classroom, and Rob sighed as if to say “Rather him than me.” Then he nudged Mark with his shoulder. ‘Gary’s on his own! Talk to ‘im, Markie!’

Mark turned to see Gary standing by the window as though waiting for him. His Slytherin mate had entered a door to their right. But Mark hesitated. He hadn’t talked to Gary since their “study date” last night, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Part of him wanted to postpone their next meeting in case Gary thought it had all been one big mistake.

What if Mark turned out to be an absolutely rubbish lover? ‘I dunno, Rob.’

‘ _Talk to him_ ,’ Robbie whispered. He was barely moving his mouth. ‘Now’s your chance! Quick!’

Mark sighed and rolled his eyes. He should know by now that Rob could be intolerable when it came to Mark’s love life. One time, Rob — Oh well, it hardly mattered anymore, anyway. Mark and Gary were together now. Whether Rob’s little schemes had helped achieved that was a subject matter for another day.

‘Awright, awright.’ Mark got up from the bench slowly and slung his shoulder bag over his right shoulder. It felt lighter now that he had no more classes to attend. ‘But no eavesdropping, OK?’ he added as an afterthought when Rob began to follow him excitedly. ‘You just . . . wait for Dougie to come back in case he’s burned his eyebrows off. And finish that essay of yours!’

Robbie pouted, but did as he was told and went back to the bench.

When Mark finally joined Gary at the window his lover (!) was already smiling, and Mark’s doubts from seconds ago vanished into thin air.

The window overlooked the school grounds, and for a moment Mark couldn’t imagine a time where he wasn’t here, at Hogwarts, studying magic and fancying Slytherins. One day soon, he’d have taken all his exams. One day soon, Hogwarts would be but a mere memory, something that he’d have to put behind him if he wanted to get ahead in the wizarding world. Realizing that now, he couldn’t think of a better way to have spent his last days here; with his mates, and with Gary. One day they’d all be sitting in a pub, laughing at the daft things they got up to.

Students were walking and running about. A professor landed on a makeshift path on an old broomstick. It was still very early in the morning, and for a moment the perfect sight of Gary in front of a continuously shifting orange background took Mark’s breath away. Gary was his. Completely and utterly.

A passing Slytherin greeted Gary. Gary nodded at her politely.

‘How’d your exam go?’ Gary asked Mark casually, aware that there were people all around them.

They were both itching to talk about last night.

‘Sort of average,’ said Mark. He saw Robbie give him the thumbs-up in the corner of his eye. ‘I think. How ‘bout yours?’

‘Really well, yeah.’ Gary’s eyes flickered to Mark’s lips, and Mark felt himself shiver. He still couldn’t get his head around the fact that someone like Gary could have lips so perfect, and that Gary would want to spend his only free evening of the semester kissing someone like Mark. Perhaps all the exploding cauldrons, hospital visits, arguments and heartaches really had all been worth it.

‘I still haven’t stopped thinking about last night,’ Gary whispered, a certain quality to his voice that Mark was still getting used to. ‘And how _good_ you felt. So . . . tight and . . . soft and _utterly_ mind-blowing.’

Mark looked away shyly as the memories from the previous night came back to him. He watched a young female student attempt to cast what looked like a colour-changing spell on a flowerbed, and he stared at it in an attempt to get his heartbeat under control.

‘Me neither,’ Mark whispered after a time. He licked his lips. A group of giggling girls passed them. ‘When I woke up this morning I could still feel you inside of me, you know,’ he said so only Gary could hear it. He felt himself burning up. His comfortable trousers suddenly felt like a pair of jeans, too small and too tight.

Gary mouthed a very aroused “wow”. Now it was _his_ turn to look away.

Last night, Mark and Gary experienced all their mutual “firsts” at once. Their first kiss, messy and passionate and Butterbeer-flavoured. The first time they nervously undressed each other, their similar but completely different bodies illuminated by the green and red lights in the Slytherin common room; Mark’s, small and taut — Gary’s, soft yet muscular.  

Mark had gone on his wobbly knees then, feeling the warmth of the fireplace on his back while he pleasured Gary with his inexperienced mouth and pleasured himself with his fist. It wasn’t something that Gary had asked of him; _God_ , Gary would be thrilled if only he could take care of Mark all night long, but no — Mark wanted more. He wanted to make Gary feel good. He wanted to know what it’d be like to be that intimate, that close, and Gary could only _gasp_ when Mark wrapped his lips around him.

Mark would never forget the way Gary looked at him in that moment, wide-eyed and full of lust, his fingers tugging at Mark’s hair. Just one twist of Mark’s tongue, and Gary would roll his eyes into the back of his head like it was the best thing he’d ever felt.

It _was_ the best thing he’d ever felt, and the best thing Mark had ever tasted on his lips.  

And dear God, was it _wrong_. Anyone could have walked into them and seen them pleasure each other.

But no-one did. (The fact that Jay had followed them after their visit to Hogsmeade and locked the door of the Slytherin common room with a simple spell after that tall creep had nearly barged in on them had nothing to do with it. Oh no.)

Then their first time when Gary led a shaking Mark back to the sofa, nervous but self-assured, and Mark sat on Gary’s lap (‘I wanna be able to hold you, Gary, please . . .’), filled whole while he slowly lowered himself onto Gary’s cock. Mark let out a pained gasp then, and Gary immediately looked at him wide-eyed.

‘You okay, Mark?’ Gary asked worriedly. He was rubbing Mark’s back up and down slowly. ‘If you’re not, then—’

‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ Mark said. It hurt, but in a good way. He started rolling his hips then, slowly but surely, his face screwed up in pain and arousal while he inexpertly but intimately rode his lover to the edge. 

Nervously Mark put his hands on Gary’s chest, and he discovered with wicked pleasure how sensitive the other boy’s skin was. All it took was a little flick of his fingers, and Gary would bite his lips to suppress a moan. Similarly, Mark had no idea how much having his arse slapped turned him on, and every time Gary did so Mark whimpered and begged Gary to do it again.

Gary rubbed and kissed and caressed the pain away, expertly giving Mark pleasure in time with his thrusts. Soon they were too lost into each other to make a sound, scared that a single moan or gasp would break the one spell that they didn’t need magic for. All they needed for confirmation in that moment were each other’s naked bodies, pressed closely together while they tasted each other on their lips and tongues.

Mark no longer noticed how cold it was inside the dungeon.

The sofa creaked under their weight with each thrust, the pile of books that Gary had so carefully rearranged toppling over yet again.

Suddenly Mark was flipped onto his back, Gary pressing him into the sofa with his much heavier body. Gary entered him again, deeper and harder and rougher than before, and hit a sensitive little spot that Mark had no idea existed before then over and over.

‘Oh God, Mark, I think I’m going to come inside of you,’ Gary panted only minutes later, his forehead pressed against Mark’s.

Mark was seeing stars at the mere thought.

‘ _Yes_. Do it.’

They both came mere seconds later, panting and moaning softly, uttering beautiful expletives under their breaths.  

The sound of talking students brought Mark back to the corridor.

Gary rested his nervous hands on the window sill. With beating heart, Mark covered Gary’s hand with his own and squeezed like it was the most natural thing in the world. They both silently watched the flowerbed outside the window turn from a dull yellow into a vibrant apple green.

Mark still had indents on his neck from when Gary bit him. Mark told him to do it again. And again.

‘Is your Patronus really a dolphin?’ Gary asked Mark after a while. Another student had ran out of classroom 2E crying. Howard was nowhere to be seen, which meant that either the exam had gone really well or really badly.

Mark chuckled. Before last night, Gary didn’t strike Mark as the sort of guy who was into tattoos.

Mark’s tattoo had been a bit of a regretful decision, really; it seemed like a good decision at the time – it was Christmas, Mark and Robbie were back in Manchester, and they had recently found out what their Patronuses were –, but when Mark’s ma found out about it at New Year’s Eve she nearly threatened to kick him out of the house unless he came up with a tattoo-removing charm. He didn’t tell her that the tattoo itself was magical. (It moved when tickled. No, seriously.)  

After they’d regained their breaths, Gary gently lifted Mark on top of the writing desk next to the leather sofa and kissed him all over as if to make up for the days they hadn’t spent kissing. He spent an excessive amount of time on Mark’s dolphin tattoo.

‘Yeah, why?’

Mark could still hear Gary panting in his ear every time he looked at him. He could still remember what Gary said when he filled Mark up when he came. Word for word. Then Gary softened and stayed inside of him while they kissed, and it instantly felt as though Gary was a part of Mark that he didn’t know had been missing all this time. Mark didn’t really believe in love at first sight or true love or all that other girly nonsense that Howard sometimes jokes about, but if he did, well, then he’d probably say that Gary was the One. And not because they’d had sex, but because deep down, in his heart, Mark knew it to be true.

Back in the school corridor, Gary shrugged. ‘Dunno. Just, you know, what if it’d been a cockerel of something?’

When they had helped each other get dressed, Gary playfully slapped Mark’s arse on the way out.

Mark raised his eyebrows. ‘What, is _yours_ a cockerel?’ 

Gary blushed, and shushed Mark to lower his voice when a teacher of theirs entered a classroom on their right. ‘Well, actually, it’s a—’

‘Oi! Gary Borelow!’

Gary tensed up and removed his hand from underneath Mark’s as though burned.

Mark recognized the voice immediately. It was Eric, the Slytherin who had nearly ruined their night.

The Slytherin who had hurt his boyfriend.

Eric was looking at the both of them with contempt in his eyes, his hands on his hips like he fucking owned the place. 

He _did_ actually have the facial similarities of a troll, Mark thought resentfully. He was tall and lanky, but had a big nose and big eyebrows and the constant expression of someone who had just smelled something foul. His clothes looked brand new, and his shiny, expensive shoes told Mark that Eric was probably a rich little Pure-Blood with contempt for everything and anyone who was different.

Mark had never hated anyone in his life, but he really, _really_ hated Eric.

‘I didn’t realize you ‘ad friends, Barlow!’ Eric scoffed. ‘Then again, ‘e’s so small you probably need binoculars to see ‘im!’

(Eric found this joke very funny, and groaned when none of the onlookers in the corridor laughed.)

The nasty Slytherin proceeded to call Gary very offensive names that had everything to do with his sexuality and Muggle-status, and Mark felt an unfamiliar flush of anger in his chest. This was the man who had made Gary bleed. This was the man who terrified Gary after their afternoon of laughing and almost-kissing.

An excited crowd had gathered around them, undoubtedly waiting for a fight to kick off.

There wasn’t a single teacher in sight. Thick smoke was seeping out of the door to classroom 2E that had been left ajar, but none of the students noticed.

Mark glanced at Robbie, who had gotten up from his bench. He looked fearful, undoubtedly remembering the time when Mark came out to his mates in a pub, and the pub owner proceeded to violently kick them out because he didn’t want his “establishment” to attract people like Mark. Howard had nearly gotten them all in serious trouble by casting a Levitation Charm on the Muggle pub owner. Thankfully, they all got off lightly.

Gary opened his mouth to say something, but Mark motioned him not to. He wasn’t going to let Gary battle this out on his own. Not again.

He wasn’t ever, _ever_ going to let Gary down again.

‘Let me,’ Mark whispered. Confidently looking Eric in the eyes, he said, ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit beneath you to be picking on sad little Muggle-borns like me and Gary here?’

The crowd went _oooooh!_

Mark’s heart did a little flutter.

Eric guffawed. ‘What’re you gonna do? Run to yer mum?’

‘I thought that was more _your_ style,’ said Mark, sounding more confident than he felt. He could literally feel his heart in his throat. He looked at Robbie again, who was physically restraining Howard from throwing a punch Eric’s way.

Gary was breathing heavily.

Mark knew that he was much smaller than Eric, and that even their tall Dougie would have trouble taking him on. No, someone like Eric would have to be dealt with differently. Cheap shots, below the belt remarks, that sort of thing.

‘I didn’t think you’d have time to bully people, you know. What with your _special_ hobby,’ Mark teased.

Eric blushed. The crowd went silent. ‘I don’t know what yer talkin’ about,’ he stammered.

Neither did Mark; he’d made that one up on the spot. It seemed to be doing an excellent trick at ruffling Eric’s feathers, though. ‘I know what you did the day we learned the Engorgement Charm,’ he lied, remembering a rumour he had once heard in his first year. Apparently a two year student had once used the charm on his . . . gentleman area, which led to him having serious, life-threatening injuries that Madame Pomfrey simply refused to treat. The poor lad was taken to St. Mungo’s, and never returned to Hogwarts. It was a bit of an urban legend now, but then again it may just have been one of Howard’s Hogwarts Crack Theories.

Another _oooooh!_ from the crowd.

Eric turned scarlet. He was beginning to lose his temper. ‘You stupid — (Eric used a word here that we shall not mention.) Do you really fink no-one would find out about what yer did, eh? With yer _love potion_? Yer as bad as the rest of us, using magic on twats like Barlow here! It’s a good thing I interv— it’s a good thing I stopped it before it went too far!’

Mark could hear Robbie gasp. Howard said something rude. ‘What’d you mean?’ asked Mark, but he already had a suspicion.

‘What I mean is that I saved you a whole lotta trouble by tempering with that love potion of yers!’

Mark’s heart jumped. ‘Hang on,’ he said, his brain quickly putting two and two together, ‘ _You_ did that?’

‘Course I did! D’you think I want you two poofs ruining this place with yer filth? No way. When I found out that you and yer mate were working on that Amortentia for Barlow, I did some potion-making of me own. Mixed yer potion with my version – a nice combination of Dizziness Draught and Venomous Tentacula Juice, if I do say so meself – when you wasn’t looking. Then beat Borelow up when I found out some bird had drank the poison instead,’ he admitted, almost proudly. ‘T’was Barlow who was supposed to end up in St. Mungo’s, not that stupid bird!’ he added rather stupidly, and a collective gasp simmered through the crowd. They had no idea what this dude was talking about, but oh my, was it bad!

‘BUT I PUT A SPELL ON THAT DOOR!’ Robbie cried from his hiding place.

‘Well, you didn’t do a very good job, did you?’ said Eric.

Everything Mark had known for the past few weeks was changing colour. First of all, Mark had not poisoned Charlie; Eric had. Secondly, there was a very large chance that Mark’s original Amortentia was actually completely functional, meaning that Mark and Robbie might not be rubbish at Potions at all. (Not that it mattered now, anyway.) Thirdly, and most importantly, the Universe must want Mark and Gary to get together really fucking badly if their love survived even the wrath of a homophobic piece of shit.

Mark’s right hand was twitching. Howard was mouthing something at him that sounded an awful lot like —

‘ _Why_?’ Mark asked Eric.

— _Use magic._

‘Use magic, you idiot!’ Howard whispered, and Robbie joined him in an interpretive dance that was supposed to resemble spell-casting.

Eric shrugged. ‘Why _not_?’ He laughed, which was making him look even more like a troll, and Mark decided he hated him more than anything. ‘Hogwarts doesn’t n—’

But before the bully could finish his sentence, Mark had already whipped out his wand. He didn’t even need to say the charm; out came a fast burst of water, hitting Eric squarely in the chest and knocking him to the floor in a puddle of water.

The crowd cheered. Clearly they disliked Eric as much as Mark and Gary did.

‘Take that, you prick,’ Mark whispered at a pathetic-looking Eric before he and Gary walked away, hand in hand. 

***

Like the previous night and the nights before, Mark awoke that bright summer morning held tightly in Gary’s embrace. A strip of light from the half-open curtains in their tiny room at the inn had fallen onto Gary’s face and bare chest, highlighting the pieces of flesh that Mark loved so much. Having spent infinite amounts of time with Gary since getting together, Mark knew every inch on Gary’s body inside out. Mark loved the tiny hairs on Gary’s belly. He loved the way Gary arched his back when he, well . . . He loved the little sounds that escaped Gary’s mouth in his sleep. He loved his hands, so talented and sinful, turning Mark’s body into pudding every time.

He still couldn’t believe that Gary was his in spite of all the things that had happened. There had been bullies who did not want them to get together, and yet here they were, wrapped up into each other’s arms.

Not wanting to wake his boyfriend up but failing to resist the temptation of that beautiful skin, Mark started placing light kisses on Gary’s belly — his chest —

‘‘S too early,’ Gary grumbled softly when one of Mark’s kisses had woken him. They were both quite naked apart from the thin white sheet that was barely covering their bodies.

The room was completely quiet but for the birdsong outside their window. Mark thought he could smell fresh loaves of bread being baked by the kind witch who had taken them in downstairs, and he wondered if he might be allowed to eat breakfast here, in bed with Gary.

‘No, it’s not,’ said Mark, annoyingly chipper at this time of day, and he continued kissing up Gary’s body until he reached Gary’s lips. Gary responded with a lazy snog, his tired hands moving slowly up and down Mark’s spine.

‘I love you,’ said Gary, brushing the long hair out of Mark’s eyes so he could have a better look at him.

Mark kissed him again. ‘I love you too.’

Gary hummed. He could lie here in bed with Mark on top of him all day. In fact, he had! ‘Have you used a spell on your hair?’

‘No, why?’

‘Nothing, it’s just — it’s long, is all.’

Mark pouted. ‘You don’t like it?’

‘I love it,’ said Gary, rubbing the small of Mark’s back contently. ‘It’s nice. Suits you.’ He meant it.

‘Anyway,’ said Mark shyly, not sure whether he should bring up what had been on his mind all week, ‘It’s been four months exactly since we first . . .’ He bit his lip. ‘You know. Slytherin common room?’ he added when Gary looked at him uncertainly.

‘ _Ah_! I see!’ Gary kissed Mark’s temple. For a moment he seemed lost in thought, no doubt reminiscing about that beautiful first night with Mark on that green leather sofa. ‘It’s been that long? I haven’t even thought about what I wanna do with me life yet now that I’ve graduated, we’ve been so busy shagging!’

Mark blushed. Definitely more experienced than he had been at the start of our story, there were still moments when it was blatantly obvious that had only recently had all his “firsts”. In the beginning, Howard still liked making fun of him for it, but he stopped taking the piss when Jason told him off one day.

‘You make it sound so wrong,’ Mark said quietly. ‘Anyhow, I prefer “making love”, me.’

‘I wouldn’t call what we did last night “making love”,’ said Gary, moving his lips to Mark’s ear and lowering his voice to a whisper: ‘With you touching yourself on the bed while I watched? Definitely shagging.’

Mark giggled when Gary intentionally blew into his ear. ‘Shut up,’ he said, smiling a little embarrassedly. He repositioned himself so that his head was resting on Gary’s chest again, and sighed contently when Gary started massaging his hair. ‘So what _do_ you want to do when we get back?’ he asked after a while. ‘Our exams _did_ end several weeks ago, you know.’

Taken at the end of the school year, the exams covered pretty much every subject the students had ever laid eyes upon. Even the seemingly unimportant Softening Charm that Robbie had once accidentally used on Jay’s prick was a part of the Charms exam, and as expected those who were still allowed to partake in Potions had to write 1,000 words on the Shrinking Solution.

The exams were extremely difficult, and at the end of the second week Howard was seriously considering quitting school for ever and becoming a painter or something. Even Jason, who was super smart, was struggling. Mark and Robbie were just pleased that they had one less subject to worry about. (After the truth about the boys’ “Amortentia” and the sabotaging thereof had been outed, the two of them were allowed to sit the Potions exam again. They both kindly declined.)

Thankfully our boys all got through it, getting grades for subjects that they didn’t even think they’d pass! Mark’s highest grade, predictably, was in Muggle Music, and Gary somehow managed to get an “Outstanding” for Transfigurations. To celebrate, Mark and Gary immediately booked a room at a wizard-owned inn in a remote corner in Scotland after their graduation. They spent most of the days cuddling. (And shagging. ‘Making _love_ , Gaz,’ Mark cried from the bathroom. ‘Nope. Shagging,’ said Gary stubbornly.)

As for the others, Robbie had gone back to Stoke to play footie and ponder which profession he might like to pursue. Maybe he’d do something non-magical. Howard, tired of finding Jason’s revision notes all over his possessions, took his Ravenclaw mate to a wizard rock concert the day of their last exam. ( _Stuff_ happened there.)

Charlie got out of hospital a week after Mark and Gary’s date, achieved high grades for every single subject in her tests, and was looking forward to year seven very much. When Mark and Robbie presented her with a celebratory teacup with the words _WE’RE SORRY FOR WHAT HAPPEND_ (sic) printed on it, she gave them both a big hug.

Eric was still a little bit afraid of Mark, and was expelled after the headmaster found out what he’d done.

Gary shrugged at Mark’s question. ‘Dunno, perhaps I’ll just . . . Hang on, what’s _that_?’

As though by magic, an owl had suddenly appeared at the end of their bed. It was holding what looked like a newspaper.

Mark started when he spotted the tiny creature, and held onto Gary a bit more tightly.

‘Did _you_ see that thing appear?’ Gary said, sounding as startled as Mark felt. He pulled up their sheets so that their bodies were covered up a bit better.  

Mark shook his head. ‘I was too busy staring at you.’

Careful not to have the owl suddenly attack them (note: it was an animal the size of a coffee mug, and it couldn’t have looked _less_ threatening), Gary slowly got up from the bed and went over to the window. He was stark naked, and Mark raised an appreciative eyebrow when Gary turned his back to him. He was covered in faint scratches.

‘That’s weird, I thought I’d closed the window,’ said Gary, more to himself than to Mark, and he stuck his head out of the window in case it might give him an idea as to where the owl had come from. It didn’t, and Mark bit his lip at the funny thought that someone might’ve seen a naked Gary inspect their window.

Having decided that the owl was probably non-threatening, Mark athletically bent over to the end of the bed and carefully pulled the newspaper out of the owl’s beak. (Gary, too, raised an appreciative eyebrow.)

Mark gently patted the bird on its head. ‘Thank you, owl.’ At that, the owl blinked gratefully and flew off and flapped out of the window.

‘And?’ said Gary after he had closed the window again. ‘Anything special?’

‘Well, it’s a newspaper,’ said Mark when he had unrolled the paper package. The bedsheet had slipped down his upright body, revealing just a hint of a happy trail.

Gary decided to start looking for his trousers. (He’d stopped wearing underwear ages ago.)

When Mark had folded out the newspaper on the bed, he realized that it was a paper from the Muggle world. ‘And it’s not the Daily Prophet,’ Mark concluded. He held the newspaper up for Gary to see, who squinted. ‘Do _you_ read this paper?’

Gary shook his head. While Gary looked for his favourite black trousers on the floor, Mark skimmed through the newspaper in search of some clue. Neither of them read this newspaper, and it was a bit strange that an unfamiliar owl had flown all the way out to Scotland to deliver something from the Muggle world. There must be more to it!

Gary had finally spotted his trousers next to Mark’s underpants in front of the bathroom door when Mark uttered an “A-ha!”

‘Look here!’ he cried, and he motioned Gary to have a look. He was pointing at the adverts section. One ad was circled with thick, red marker, and for a second Gary thought he could see the letters dance like an advert from the magical world.

‘What’s it say?’ said Gary.

Mark cleared his throat and started reading: ‘Singers wanted! Whoever wrote this must be very desperate, it’s in really big letters . . . Singers and dancers wanted for a new boyband. If you have what it takes, call — and then there’s a name and a phone number. Tis in Manchester as well, see?’ And he pointed at the small address underneath the phone number.

The letters in the ad definitely moved. _Odd_.

‘Do you know who sent it?’ Gary huffed as he put on his trousers. They were tighter than he remembered. Must be all the Butterbeer from last night.

‘The paper? Dunno, but whoever did must have a very good idea at who you are.’

Gary frowned. ‘What, you think it was intended for _me_?’

‘Huh?’ Mark looked up at Gary nervously. ‘I gave up on me guitar lessons when I got into Hogwarts.’

‘But you’re really good at Muggle Music!’ cried Gary. ‘It’s intended for you, this ad, mate.’

‘You have a _piano_ ,’ Mark argued.

‘Keyboard.’

‘Same difference.’

Gary ran his fingers through his hair. ‘D’you reckon it might be intended for the both of us?’

Mark shrugged. ‘Could be.’

A feeling that Mark had only previously felt when he was with Gary was rumbling strangely in his belly. It was a sort of nervous excitement, and he had spent enough days and nights with Gary by now to know that Gary was feeling it, too.

‘The person who sent it could be a troll,’ Mark suggested slowly, unconvinced by his own words. ‘You know, an _actual_ troll.’

Gary told Mark to get dressed.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are then, the end of "Black Magic". I hope you enjoyed reading it. :-)


End file.
